Passover….
As a child I used to love reading a series of books called “all of a kind family”. They were a series of books about a large Jewish Orthodox family living in the ghetto of New York pre-WWI. I loved reading about how they celebrated the holidays and went about their day-to-day lives. I never really realized that to me they were any different then the characters in any of the other books I was reading: the little house in the prairie books or any other historical books. In fact I related to the “all of a kind” family better than the “little house on the prairie books because they were city people and city life was far more familiar to me than being an American pioneer. In addition coming from a practicing Catholic family, the premise of changing my dietary restrictions for religious holidays was very familiar. And being part of a large family has so many universal truths.
It wasn’t until two years ago that I actually got to go to a Seder with some Jewish friends in North Carolina. I was fascinated that there were readings and a prayer service from a hegada, which was very similar to the Lord’s Day prayer service I used to go to in college, but unlike Catholic rituals it was about food and the people there with you. And the food was really good. I lived off of the leftovers for a month. These friends could cook.
Last week I was invited to go to the Samaritan Passover on top of the hill next to my town with some of the Samaritan students here at the school. The invitation was for the whole staff, the Arabs and the internationals. Before I even came to the area, before I thought I was going to move here, back when I was doing research for my pilgrimage here I had read on several web sites about the Samarian Passover, that it was an event not to be missed. Back then I thought I wasn’t going to be in the holy land for this period so I didn’t give it much thought but then when events changed and I ended up moving here a part of me really hoped there would be a way to be able to go. So I was pretty pumped when we got the invitation and shocked that none of the Arab teachers were at all interested and the internationals were only mildly curious.
The day of the Passover I marched in to the office to get help figuring out how to go and the details. The staff seemed really surprised that I actually wanted to go. They want to accept the Samaritans, they really do. But they struggle with anything that is different and the Samaritans are a type of Jew. After the past 60’s worth of struggle with the Israelis in the name of Judaism, the Samaritans cut it a little too close to home.
In the end it was just the three of us Americans interested in going. When we called the parents to ask them the details they told us that there was a checkpoint that separated us from them but that it closed at 3pm. They said just to crawl under the gate, everyone did since the kids didn’t get home until after 4pm everyday. That after three it wasn’t manned. And then to walk straight and we would find the kids, they would be playing on the streets.
A taxi came to get us at 4:30pm and drove us up and up and up to the checkpoint.
It wasn’t abandoned after all. Not only were there a ton of Israeli soldiers manning it but also a long line of Palestinians trying to get into the town. It is a weird relationship that this part of Nablus has with the rest of it. Historically Nablus was Samaria and the people who lived on this mountaintop would have lived also down in the valley. But as time has passed and their numbers have dwindled down to about 700 Samarians left in the world they have moved up to the top of the mountain that they worshipped on, Because they have Israeli passports they are kept secure by the Israeli government but because they have been living here in Nablus for at least 3000 years continuously they are completely part of the Palestinian world here in Nablus. Their children go to Palestinian schools and the adults work down here in the town. The security checkpoint is a minor annoyance for them and everyone who wants to visit them. When we asked Alta one of the 2nd graders that we teach who lives there how to get through the checkpoint he mined getting down on his hands and knees and crawling under the gate, it didn’t even cross his mind to cross over it when it was open. He goes to school in the morning before it is opened and it is closed before he gets home.
Usually at checkpoints they see our foreign passports and wave us right through, but not this time. This time they took our passports called the numbers into a central number (to check to see if we were terrorists?) and then had one of the Dad’s from the town come down to identify us. We only had to wait 5 or 10 minutes, somewhat shocked that we had to wait at all before finally being allowed through. The other Palestinians there were going to be waiting a really long time.
We didn’t really know what to expect at this “party”. Our first clue was on the way up and the trail of blood streaming down the road. Someone had started sacrificing early. The next clue was that all the men were wearing “rain boots”.
As we walked the rest of the way up the hill and into the town to find our students, we passed dozens and dozens of Israeli Soldiers and soldiers in civilian clothing with huge riffles hanging off their shoulders. The other thing that was utterly shocking were the huge numbers of non-Arabs there. Only 20 minutes from the center of Nablus there were hundreds of people there from all over the world. We completely out numbered the Samaritans. It was strange to be part of a totally international crowd with people from all over the world so close to where I lived, a place that I stand out every moment of every day. Suddenly I was the norm.
I couldn’t believe all the reporters from every media source there. Thousands of cameras and people filming the Samaritans there. I walked up to listen in on the interviews being conducted and was amused by the language gaps. One interview I couldn’t help but helping was a German guy interviewing one of the town’s elders. Neither of them could speak English well but it was the only language they had in common. The interviewer was trying to ask how many sheep were going to be sacrificed that night. The elder didn’t understand the word sheep. The interviewer thought of ever other world for sheep: goat, lamb, heifer that he could think of in his vast English vocabulary. I finally asked the elder how many “animals” were they going to kill… AHHH yes. “15 animals to kill, 700 Samaritan to feed”
We found our students playing with the fire pits… They were all dressed in white. When I asked why they said, “no wear, black or color, Miss” which of course explains all. There were six huge fire pits that were about 20 feet deep or so. Along the edge of the sacrifice area where we were gathered were several trees that had been cut down for the occasion. The boys were in charge of building up the fires and keeping them going. They each had a pit they were in charge of. We hung out with them for a few hours before the sheep were brought down into the area and blessed.
Then the men, also dressed in white pulled out their big huge carving/ butchering knives to sharpen… in another corner of the area where we were gathered the elders started chanting the prayers. During all of this sheep kept escaping from corner they were being herded in . After about a half hour of this they finally told everyone to go to the “grandstands” behind the fence so that the whole village could come out and start the ceremonies. From where I stood, there wasn’t much that I could actually see except for the elders leading the prayers. I was actually thankful that I couldn’t see the sacrifice going on, I could hear and smell the killing of the goats. However I notice that at the moment the sun went down the goats were sacrificed.
After that happened we were welcome back down and in the sacrificing area where the Samaritans were blessing each other with the blood of the animals on their forehead.
We found our students and asked them what would happen next… they said, “cook sheep and eat late.” Their dad’s later clarified that everyone would be eating at midnight. That was still four hours away. Jon, my coworker who I was there with decided it was time for us to head home. Who knew what we would fine at the check point and how likely it would be that we be able to find a taxi. So it was time go, we called a taxi service and had them meet us at the checkpoint… which by the time we got there was still crazy…
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Saturday, April 25, 2009
An introduction to Nablus
Nablus is the largest city in the West Bank with an ancient and noble history. It lies 66km to the North of Jerusalem and is located at a junction in a pass which links the Mediterranean coastal plane in the West to the Jordan Valley in the East. The Nablus Municipality is managed by an elected city council.
The tour in Nablus will visit the Balata refugee camp and martyr's cemetery, historical sites, and the city’s famous market. You will learn about ancient and modern times, combined with information about the city’s current status as an closed ghetto of the Palestinian Authority surrounded by Israeli controlled territory.
The tour will include the Old City with its beautiful labyrinth of buildings dating back to the Ottoman period. You will also visit sites of historical and religious interest such as Jacob’s Well; a deep well dug by Jacob and where Jesus once asked a Samaritan woman for a drink. If the Israeli army permits, the tour will pass the checkpoint to the Samaritan's hilltop village on Mount Grizim as see the site of their ancient temple.
Nablus has long been a Moslem Arab city with a small community of Samaritans, a few Jews, and a few Christians. It came under the British Mandate of Palestine between 1923 and 1948 and was annexed by Jordan after it was taken by the Arab armies in the 1948-49 Arab-Israeli war. In the 1930s it was a center of resistance to Jewish immigration, and remains so today. The first Arab National Committee was founded in Nablus. In 1967 the city was occupied by Israel. Since 1986 the municipality has been in the hands of the Palestinians and it is now one of the towns under the jurisdiction of the Palestinian Authority.
A visit to the city is not complete without seeing the refugee camps which are home to families who fled, or were expelled from Israel in 1948, and 1967. You will learn the stories of the refugees from your guide, in addition to seeing the conditions under which they live.
The city is closed off by military checkpoints and cars are not allowed into or out of the city without special permits. However, the Palestinian Authority’s 2007 security push in Nablus has transformed it from a lawless city into one with a functioning municipality and police force. Nablus is a fascinating city with hospitable and friendly people.
Come discover a beautiful Palestinian city too often overlooked by travelers. You have not seen the West Bank, or the reality of life under occupation without a visit to Nablus.
The tour in Nablus will visit the Balata refugee camp and martyr's cemetery, historical sites, and the city’s famous market. You will learn about ancient and modern times, combined with information about the city’s current status as an closed ghetto of the Palestinian Authority surrounded by Israeli controlled territory.
The tour will include the Old City with its beautiful labyrinth of buildings dating back to the Ottoman period. You will also visit sites of historical and religious interest such as Jacob’s Well; a deep well dug by Jacob and where Jesus once asked a Samaritan woman for a drink. If the Israeli army permits, the tour will pass the checkpoint to the Samaritan's hilltop village on Mount Grizim as see the site of their ancient temple.
Nablus has long been a Moslem Arab city with a small community of Samaritans, a few Jews, and a few Christians. It came under the British Mandate of Palestine between 1923 and 1948 and was annexed by Jordan after it was taken by the Arab armies in the 1948-49 Arab-Israeli war. In the 1930s it was a center of resistance to Jewish immigration, and remains so today. The first Arab National Committee was founded in Nablus. In 1967 the city was occupied by Israel. Since 1986 the municipality has been in the hands of the Palestinians and it is now one of the towns under the jurisdiction of the Palestinian Authority.
A visit to the city is not complete without seeing the refugee camps which are home to families who fled, or were expelled from Israel in 1948, and 1967. You will learn the stories of the refugees from your guide, in addition to seeing the conditions under which they live.
The city is closed off by military checkpoints and cars are not allowed into or out of the city without special permits. However, the Palestinian Authority’s 2007 security push in Nablus has transformed it from a lawless city into one with a functioning municipality and police force. Nablus is a fascinating city with hospitable and friendly people.
Come discover a beautiful Palestinian city too often overlooked by travelers. You have not seen the West Bank, or the reality of life under occupation without a visit to Nablus.
an article about Nablus
Life Under Military Rule by Seth Freedman - Guardian
Seth Freedman took a tour with ToursInEnglish.com and published this report in England's Guardian Newspaper.
According to tradition, the Palestinian city of Nablus is set near two mountains famed for their role in the Biblical story of Balaam and his donkey. Balaam, a non-Jewish prophet, set out for Israel determined to issue a curse over the people of Israel, but - thanks to divine intervention and revelation - ended up blessing the infant nation instead. His change of heart is still cited today, with supporters of the Zionist state claiming that all of Israel's detractors would in fact sing its praises to the high heavens if only they saw the country for themselves.
I have, and yet I don't. At least, not when faced with the consequences of Israel's "me first" policy, which has caused such devastation and heartache to the Palestinian people, as I witnessed yet again in the Balatta refugee camp on the outskirts of Nablus. To argue about whether it is a camp or not, as many do, is utterly irrelevant. Yes, the refugees live in houses rather than tents, but given the atrocious conditions they are forced to exist in, it's of little comfort to them that their prison cells are made of bricks and mortar instead of canvas.
According to our guide, "the residents aren't allowed to build outside the camp's perimeter, so the only way is up" - and it shows. Alleyways between houses barely wider than a person, bars on the windows of adjacent houses literally touching across the divide, and raw sewage flowing unchecked down the broken pavement; this is the harsh reality of life behind the barricades.
Pockmarked walls bear the scars of the almost daily incursions by the IDF, whose stray bullets do more than just damage the facades of the houses, as the overflowing cemetery bears testament to. "The army doesn't give a damn about civilians getting caught in the crossfire," said Muhammad, who led us around his neighbourhood with a grim determination to drill home the horror of life under military rule.
"However," he said, "you can never truly know what it's like till you've lived here yourself. Every family's either had someone killed, wounded or arrested by the IDF; dozens of houses have been smashed apart during raids." He spoke of his childhood friends who have "ended up underground," saying that more than 20 of his peer group died "a martyr's death" resisting the occupation.
As we toured the camp and saw the scores of memorials erected in honour of fallen shaheeds, it was clear that whatever security reasons are cited for the army's iron-fisted approach to Nablus, it is having the opposite effect in terms of crushing the resistance. Children swagger round in bomber jackets in chilling imitation of the posters of gun-toting fighters plastered on every available surface. T-shirts bearing the images of Sheik Hassan Nasrallah, George Habash and other militant leaders are on sale in the crowded casbah in the old city section of town.
Muhammad told tales of great escapes and assassination survivals by local fighters as though narrating folklore legends of ancient times. The militants' "daring acts of heroism" have turned them into instant idols for the youth of Nablus, who stare wide-eyed at their chiselled features in the posters in the same way that their peers overseas gaze dreamily at boybands and footballers.
The stallholders in the souk begged Muhammad to translate their tales of misery for the benefit of the foreigners in their midst, complaining bitterly of the nightly raids that leave their shops destroyed and their produce ruined. For anyone who empathised with the plight of the Camden market traders, their suffering paled in comparison to the Nablus shopkeepers who are doomed to endure the same distress in an endless loop.
The authorities have certainly succeeded in getting half the job done, since they've managed to destroy Nablus's economy and leave its residents in a permanent state of penury. However, given the defiant image of the town - with its concrete homages to fallen fighters on every corner, and air of steely determination in the eyes of those peering down from the martyr posters - it's not at all clear that the locals are ready to roll over and play dead for their Israeli masters, no matter how hard the army hits them.
For those who still cleave to the notion that the only way to fight fire is with more and more fire from the other side, Nablus should prove a case in point that this is not the answer. No matter how many fighters die at the hands of the army, another generation springs up to replace them and throw themselves into the inferno, which, given the desperate situation they find themselves in within the camp, is hardly surprising. And having seen the ease with which they can slip across undetected into Israel, should the mood take them, it appears to be a deadly game that the authorities are playing by unrelentingly besieging the city and laying waste to the locals' dreams of freedom.
Friday, April 24, 2009
violence..
First of all I am safe and sound…..
Second of all nothing like this has happened to any of the teachers before in the past two years.. and hopefully it won’t happen again..
Last night at 2am in the morning I woke up to incredible pounding on the front door of the apartment. I have never had someone bang on my front door with authority. This being a Muslim country I really didn’t feel comfortable answering the door as a women or in my pajamas but the guys in my house didn’t seem to be coming to the door so I wrapped a blanket around me and swung open the door ready to yell at who ever had been so rude as to disturb my sleep and got the shock of my life..
Six or so very armed soldiers ready to attack who ever opened the door… me….. I actually don’t know who was more shocked and frightened? Me or them… a blond American women in her pajamas was the last thing in the world they were expecting.. Six scary Israeli soldiers was equally shocking to me.. You could see it running through their heads, do we treat her like any suspected terrorist or not? I asked them, “how can I help you”… They all spoke some English and asked me where I was from and what was I doing there… I explained that I was an American and a volunteer teacher at a school in town. They wanted to know who else lived there, and didn’t quite believe me when I told them it was three Americans. They asked me for my passport and I asked them if they minded if I put on some more clothes.. what I was wearing simply wasn’t decent. They thought that was a good idea.. I have learned from my experience in Japan, that you never know when you are going to be taken away to jail in your pajamas so it is best to put on some clean ones.. I came back with my passport and more clothes and was asked to go and get the others. I went to their doors to knock and wake them up. Announcing that the soldiers were there… and for a moment I realized I didn’t know which soldiers they were.. I had assumed they were Israeli but wait they might be Palestinian or who knows which country… So I looked back at them. There was nothing on their uniforms that shouted Israeli soldiers to me.. but this is how it works.. from everything I had heard from my students, coworkers, and from reading… The soldiers come around 2 or 3 in the morning to arrest (or as some call it, kidnap) who ever it is that they are going to take. So they had to be Israeli, right?
I shouted out again that the Israeli soldiers were here and they needed to get up and come out with their passport.. I think the guys were as shocked as I was, if not more.. They kept muttering, that in the two years they had been there nothing like this had ever happened.. that I was bad luck for them and that this ended their suspicion that I was a spy for the Israelis..
The soldiers quickly and efficiently questioned the guys and turned around to leave.. as they were leaving they each turned to ask us questions…
“do we know who lives in the building” -which we didn’t
“how do you get further into the building”- go all the way down walk out to on of the other doors facing the street and go up their stair way
They might have even apologized.. I don’t remember.
Adrenaline was pumping too hard for me to just fall back to sleep.. I ran over to my window to look down to see what their cars/ jeeps looked like. It was a stretch hummer/jeep thing… like that I had seen at the checkpoints..
For the next hour or so I could hear them pounding up and down our stairs going into other apartments. Doing the same thing..
Eventually I fell asleep wondering if they found who they were looking for and what happened when they went into other peoples homes. Where they as polite to the Palestinian people as they were to us?
When I got to school the next morning I told some of the staff what had happened.. they of course were freaked out, shocked and relived that we were taking it all in stride.. these things happen..
One of the teachers, the one that I co-teach with who grew up for part of her life in the states, pointed out that now we know what their lives are like. The same thing happened to her family last November. Her father is a professor at the university. One night last November all the professors across the city were rounded up and taken away.
Most of my students and co-workers have stories of this, hers ended okay, her father was let go after a few days.
But in light of the problem we had been having at school this week with fighting it got me thinking about what a violent culture I was living in. At school this week we had a problem with two, usually sweet boys, taking a younger one into the bathroom and beating the crap out of him. When I asked my other students about it, they told me that the younger one had said something bad to one of the older ones so it was deserved. I asked them how anything a second grader did merited getting beat up by the forth graders? And they seemed to think I was crazy for thinking this way. The Arabic staff seemed divided on the issue and in the end the two boys were hardly punished at all.
While all of that was going on , we were working on a worksheet in class that had to do with similes. The first words on the page were rock and stone. It is amazing how often those words have come up in class or at school. Once the word rock is mentioned the kids all have to tell me wild stories of them throwing rocks at Israeli soldiers.. they get so animated that obviously this is what they live for. When they go on this tirade I try to point out to them that they are throwing rocks at people in tanks and soldiers with big guns. It doesn’t faze them. This is their culture. This is the way things are done. I remind them that if someone hits you, you shouldn’t hit them back. They look at me like I am crazy, of course you should.. their mothers and fathers told them they should.
But the crazy part is three weeks ago I had the same conversation with an adult Israeli in the old city.
Booth my students in Palestine and the Adult said the exact same thing and truly believed it.
Silly me I thought everyone believed that you don’t fight back, that you turn the other check.. but then it hit me. This whole thought process of turning the other cheek belonged to Jesus.. It isn’t Muslim or Jewish way.. it is a Christian way and the way of countries founded on Christian principals. I really do love these kids and want them to learn not to throw the rocks… to be bigger than that…. But how to?
Second of all nothing like this has happened to any of the teachers before in the past two years.. and hopefully it won’t happen again..
Last night at 2am in the morning I woke up to incredible pounding on the front door of the apartment. I have never had someone bang on my front door with authority. This being a Muslim country I really didn’t feel comfortable answering the door as a women or in my pajamas but the guys in my house didn’t seem to be coming to the door so I wrapped a blanket around me and swung open the door ready to yell at who ever had been so rude as to disturb my sleep and got the shock of my life..
Six or so very armed soldiers ready to attack who ever opened the door… me….. I actually don’t know who was more shocked and frightened? Me or them… a blond American women in her pajamas was the last thing in the world they were expecting.. Six scary Israeli soldiers was equally shocking to me.. You could see it running through their heads, do we treat her like any suspected terrorist or not? I asked them, “how can I help you”… They all spoke some English and asked me where I was from and what was I doing there… I explained that I was an American and a volunteer teacher at a school in town. They wanted to know who else lived there, and didn’t quite believe me when I told them it was three Americans. They asked me for my passport and I asked them if they minded if I put on some more clothes.. what I was wearing simply wasn’t decent. They thought that was a good idea.. I have learned from my experience in Japan, that you never know when you are going to be taken away to jail in your pajamas so it is best to put on some clean ones.. I came back with my passport and more clothes and was asked to go and get the others. I went to their doors to knock and wake them up. Announcing that the soldiers were there… and for a moment I realized I didn’t know which soldiers they were.. I had assumed they were Israeli but wait they might be Palestinian or who knows which country… So I looked back at them. There was nothing on their uniforms that shouted Israeli soldiers to me.. but this is how it works.. from everything I had heard from my students, coworkers, and from reading… The soldiers come around 2 or 3 in the morning to arrest (or as some call it, kidnap) who ever it is that they are going to take. So they had to be Israeli, right?
I shouted out again that the Israeli soldiers were here and they needed to get up and come out with their passport.. I think the guys were as shocked as I was, if not more.. They kept muttering, that in the two years they had been there nothing like this had ever happened.. that I was bad luck for them and that this ended their suspicion that I was a spy for the Israelis..
The soldiers quickly and efficiently questioned the guys and turned around to leave.. as they were leaving they each turned to ask us questions…
“do we know who lives in the building” -which we didn’t
“how do you get further into the building”- go all the way down walk out to on of the other doors facing the street and go up their stair way
They might have even apologized.. I don’t remember.
Adrenaline was pumping too hard for me to just fall back to sleep.. I ran over to my window to look down to see what their cars/ jeeps looked like. It was a stretch hummer/jeep thing… like that I had seen at the checkpoints..
For the next hour or so I could hear them pounding up and down our stairs going into other apartments. Doing the same thing..
Eventually I fell asleep wondering if they found who they were looking for and what happened when they went into other peoples homes. Where they as polite to the Palestinian people as they were to us?
When I got to school the next morning I told some of the staff what had happened.. they of course were freaked out, shocked and relived that we were taking it all in stride.. these things happen..
One of the teachers, the one that I co-teach with who grew up for part of her life in the states, pointed out that now we know what their lives are like. The same thing happened to her family last November. Her father is a professor at the university. One night last November all the professors across the city were rounded up and taken away.
Most of my students and co-workers have stories of this, hers ended okay, her father was let go after a few days.
But in light of the problem we had been having at school this week with fighting it got me thinking about what a violent culture I was living in. At school this week we had a problem with two, usually sweet boys, taking a younger one into the bathroom and beating the crap out of him. When I asked my other students about it, they told me that the younger one had said something bad to one of the older ones so it was deserved. I asked them how anything a second grader did merited getting beat up by the forth graders? And they seemed to think I was crazy for thinking this way. The Arabic staff seemed divided on the issue and in the end the two boys were hardly punished at all.
While all of that was going on , we were working on a worksheet in class that had to do with similes. The first words on the page were rock and stone. It is amazing how often those words have come up in class or at school. Once the word rock is mentioned the kids all have to tell me wild stories of them throwing rocks at Israeli soldiers.. they get so animated that obviously this is what they live for. When they go on this tirade I try to point out to them that they are throwing rocks at people in tanks and soldiers with big guns. It doesn’t faze them. This is their culture. This is the way things are done. I remind them that if someone hits you, you shouldn’t hit them back. They look at me like I am crazy, of course you should.. their mothers and fathers told them they should.
But the crazy part is three weeks ago I had the same conversation with an adult Israeli in the old city.
Booth my students in Palestine and the Adult said the exact same thing and truly believed it.
Silly me I thought everyone believed that you don’t fight back, that you turn the other check.. but then it hit me. This whole thought process of turning the other cheek belonged to Jesus.. It isn’t Muslim or Jewish way.. it is a Christian way and the way of countries founded on Christian principals. I really do love these kids and want them to learn not to throw the rocks… to be bigger than that…. But how to?
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
sick
Well, it had to happen given the recent turn of events these past weeks and considering how many kids I come in contact with everyday, I am SICK!!!
Bronchitis and a fever and a very sore throat and all kinds of allergy issues...
the weather here has changed and it is now getting hot and the sand storms that I have been hearing about for the past three weeks are starting to pick up, not a good thing for a girl with Asthma like myself.
I told my boss Lana that I was sick and she called one of our student's mom's who is a doctor to ask which type of antibiotic I should be taking. Then an hour later or so the school secretary came in to my class (yes i have to teach even when i am sick and can't talk) with the meds.
I left school as soon as my classes were done and took a shared taxi to the Souk, market, and found a pharmacy. I know I could have asked almost any of my students to bring me medicine tomorrow, most all of their parents are either doctors or pharmacists, but i needed something right away. The pharmacists spoke perfect English and gave me some Swiss expectorant and a large supply of cough drops. All for about 10 dollars and with out a prescription. I then walked through the market and bought a large bag full of very fresh veggies for about $1.75 in the states it would have been easily 15-20$ and took a shared taxi home.. I can't seem to sleep cuz i can't breathe but hopefully sleep will come..
I know i know i need to write about my easter and passover experience... will do so when i can think straight again and the fever has passed...
Bronchitis and a fever and a very sore throat and all kinds of allergy issues...
the weather here has changed and it is now getting hot and the sand storms that I have been hearing about for the past three weeks are starting to pick up, not a good thing for a girl with Asthma like myself.
I told my boss Lana that I was sick and she called one of our student's mom's who is a doctor to ask which type of antibiotic I should be taking. Then an hour later or so the school secretary came in to my class (yes i have to teach even when i am sick and can't talk) with the meds.
I left school as soon as my classes were done and took a shared taxi to the Souk, market, and found a pharmacy. I know I could have asked almost any of my students to bring me medicine tomorrow, most all of their parents are either doctors or pharmacists, but i needed something right away. The pharmacists spoke perfect English and gave me some Swiss expectorant and a large supply of cough drops. All for about 10 dollars and with out a prescription. I then walked through the market and bought a large bag full of very fresh veggies for about $1.75 in the states it would have been easily 15-20$ and took a shared taxi home.. I can't seem to sleep cuz i can't breathe but hopefully sleep will come..
I know i know i need to write about my easter and passover experience... will do so when i can think straight again and the fever has passed...
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Good Friday
I know this is a really really long blog but there are several things i have been putting off talking about until i had time to sit and write them....
Life is amusing at times. This morning when I woke up, I had a few hours before I needed to leave for my weekend in Jerusalem. It seemed like the perfect time to blog or even journal. I got up and made myself a nice cup of tea, got my journal, a pen and my computer and snuggled myself back in bed ready to let my thoughts gush forth…. I had not a thing to say! I couldn’t think of a single interesting event from my week… so instead of using my time wisely I played tetris for two hours, an absolute waste of my time. I then cleaned my room, packed my things, and took a shower which I needed because I stilled smelled like and was covered in ash from the huge Samaritan Passover bonfires I went to the night before.
I don’t think I am as traumatized by the shower as I was the first two weeks. I hope I am getting used to it. When I first arrived, I prayed a lot before taking a shower. I prayed for hot water. I prayed that the filth of the bathroom wouldn’t somehow attack me. I prayed that I wouldn’t freeze to death on the process. I was all very traumatic and I guess being the drama queen that I am didn’t help. But then Isabel, the Scottish teacher scrubbed that bathroom and I found some Lysol and sprayed it down. It also warmed up a few degrees and mostly I accepted the situation and I don’t like showering but being clean has its rewards. I also started documenting how many seconds of hot water we get. On average it is 35 seconds of hot water followed by 2 minutes of icy cold water, over and over again. I have asked every Palestinian I know what their hot water at their homes are like and they promise that they get at least ten minutes of it at a time. I asked my housemates why we haven’t complained or obviously gotten the broken water heater fixed and they said that the apartment we are in is new. Before December they lived in a house about a mile down the street. The teachers lived there for a year and a half and all 13 of them complained nonstop for a year and a half about the hot water situation there. They complained so much that the school finally moved them to this brand new building and they didn’t feel like they had the right to utter one more word about it. Fair enough, I guess……
Weekends here are on Friday and Saturday. Friday is the holy day for the Muslims and Saturday being the day for the Jews. Christians are not as important in this part of the world, we are seen as neutral and somewhat bothersome, like a kid sister who wants to play in the war games going on. However my school out of respect for my faith has given me Easter Sunday off this year so that I could come down to Jerusalem to celebrate the holy of holies in the holiest of cities in the world. I would have come to Jerusalem anyways to work with Sudanese refugees here anyways but it is pretty awesome to run over the church of the Holy Sepulcher, the church built over Golgotha, the exact spot where Jesus was crucified and in the same church and building is the tomb where Jesus was buried and rose from the dead. Last week when I was here I spent some time researching when and where things would happen this week so I knew I needed to be here by 3pm and I from my experience I knew it would take around three hours to get here. What I hadn’t taken into account was that it was Friday in Palestine so NOTHING would be open or running AND it was Friday of Passover here in Israel so NOTHING would be open or running and that Security would be impossible.
Usually it is really easy to catch at taxi or shared taxi from my apartment or even my street. And if for some reason that didn’t work if I just walked to the main street there would be plenty of taxi’s driving by there. I had to walk for 30 minutes through the Palestinian checkpoint almost to the center of town before any taxi passed by, and lucky for me there was one seat left in it. As he was dropping everyone off I looked around and realized there was no way that I was going to be able to find another shared taxi to the checkpoint with out having to wait an hour or two. Shared taxi’s don’t leave until all the seats are full and on a day like that when there wasn’t any one around it could take a long time. So I asked the driver if he would drive me all the way to the first checkpoint and I would pay. He dropped me off and the checkpoint was abandoned except for the dozen or so Israeli guards manning it. They very politely checked my passport and visa and let me through. I then went over the “Services” the shared mini-van taxi’s to sit and wait an hour until 6 other people came through the checkpoint who all wanted to go to Ramallah. They put me in the front seat which I suspected because this has happened several times before was to make the car look less likely to have terrorist in it since obviously I as an American wouldn’t have anything to do with that and maybe it might make it easier to get through the next few checkpoints. The Israeli guards balance out being polite to the Americans and interrogating the Palestinians who come through. Maybe with my presence we can get through faster and easier, I don’t mind being used. While I am waiting one of the drivers/ guys hanging out there strikes up a conversation with me. At first I was hesitant to talk with him because it is forbidden for this type of conversation to take place between men and women. He should be respecting that I am a woman and leaving me alone. Plus from my perspective it can get old everyone trying to practice their English on me and asking tons of personal questions that they translate to everyone standing around making me even more a spectacle then I am. But his English was amazing and he spends most of the year living in New York City and we have actually a good conversation about the outrageous rents there compared to Los Angeles where he used to live. About 25 minutes into the conversation the other drivers yell at him that he is not respecting me and to leave me alone. He realized what he has done and apologizes for intruding on my space and leaves me to read the book that I have in my bag. Eventually the taxi fills up and we are on our way. Five miles later we hit the next checkpoint. Unlike the first one we can all stay in the taxi and don’t have to switch to a new one. Usually Israeli soldiers just glance into the car and do a “spot check” but because it is Passover they ask for everyone’s ID’s and permits to be in this part of Palestine. They inspect each car carefully and open every trunk and look in every box and bag before letting the next car move on. While inspecting us, someone has taken our Passports and ID’s to call them all in. We pull through the checkpoint and wait for a soldier to bring us our documents.
We drive about ten more miles to the next checkpoint and go through the same process again.
These two checkpoints weren’t in existence two weeks ago and now they are getting tighter and tighter every week. However I heard that two weeks ago they opened up completely a few other checkpoints that were even tougher. It is a strange world to live in, trying to figure out Israeli and Palestinian checkpoints.
Eventually a million and a half speed bumps later, (The speed bumps are all over and were put in by the Israeli army to slow people down and to make get-aways more challenging) we arrive at the bus station in the center of Ramallah. Usually this city is hopping and a crazy place but it has completely shut down for Friday and I quickly walked over to the bus station to catch a bus to al-quits, or Jerusalem. Again we have to wait a long time for the bus to fill up. I am so thankful for my time in china where I was trained well to wait for buses to fill up. I think my entire first year there, I was so mystified to why busses didn’t run on schedules and why we would have to wait hours in big empty stations for the possibility of people coming. I now 12 years later like that this means that there will always be a bus waiting for me, that I can’t ever miss a bus. That it gives me time to read a book. I environmentally it makes sense that busses should run full and not empty just because of following a schedule. It all actually makes sense to me now and waiting is just part of traveling. And I like that it is out of my hands. When I drive in America I feel like if I were to drive more aggressively or figure out how to beat the traffic lights I could get places on time. But here, inshallah you make it on time or if you need to, pay and take a taxi.
It is always fascinating to see who and what walks through a bus station. Palestinians have large families so it isn’t strange to see them walk through with 5 or 6 kids. The some women wear head-scarves and some don’t. Everyone has their own way of expressing their style and level of belief with their scarves. Some women wear the full thing where only their eyes show. One lady had mitten and all kinds of clothing on to ensure not a single spot of skin would show. Most wear a colorful scarf around their head. But how they style the scarf and how the coordinate it with the rest of their outfits just fascinates me. And still other women don’t wear scarves at all. Those women have the most amazing hairstyles and always look like they just stepped out of a salon. In Ramallah there are many different international aid organizations staff by internationals from all over the world. They mix right in and it can be really hard to spot them. Unlike when I was in East Asia and it was easy to spot a foreigner a mile away I can’t tell them apart from the crowd. So many Palestinians have either lived parts of their lives overseas or have family who does and sends them back shoes and clothes, that my usual tell-tale signs don’t work here. So many of them speak English or other languages well that just listening in on a conversation doesn’t always help either. But yesterday there were a few obvious foreigners wondering around the station, I could spot them because they weren’t as fashionably dressed as everyone else and they seemed as lost and confused as I usually feel here.
The bus finally took off for Jerusalem, well for the final check point. Until this point I hadn’t left Palestine. All of these checkpoints so far were to control travel amongst local people from village to village. If you really want to get around a checkpoint and have a car, it wouldn’t be impossible to do at all. The night before when I went to the Samarian village and asked my students how to get through their checkpoint after it closes at 3 every afternoon they said that you just crawl under it. I didn’t understand them so they acted it out.. they literally every afternoon crawl under the gate to get home after school. They looked at us like we were idiots not to see the obvious.
The strictest and most secure checkpoint is at the border between the West Bank and Israel. They put airport security, even at the most stringent of times to shame. You stand in a series of metal coral pens and go through revolving gates to get to the x-ray machines. If things get heated up you can get trapped in the revolving gates and have to wait inside them until everyone calms down. Then have your bags x-rayed and a very sensitive metal detector before presenting your travel documents to the very thick bullet proof windows with people with all kinds of guns strapped to them. It is intense and if you hadn’t figured out by then, you really realize that you live in a war zone. It gives all kinds of perspective.
After going through all of that, you go and get on a bus and wait once again for it to fill up. Depending on what happens at security, you may or may not be back on the same bus with the same people.
From there the bus follows the outside of the wall built around portions of Palestine for a while before making its way into Jerusalem. The first time I came through I was amazed that the two cites are only a few miles apart.
Because it took so long to get down here this time I don’t stop at my friends apartment to drop off my stuff and let them know I made it safely. Instead I headed right over to the old city to Notre Dame hotel/ church where the Legionaries have daily English mass and today, had Good Friday services. They were amazing and there was such an interesting international mix of people there. One guy and I kept looking at each other. I swear I went to college with him in Ohio years ago. And some of the consecrated Regnum Christie women were equally familiar looking from all the different times I have met them or been on retreats with them. However since it was Good Friday it didn’t seem the time or place to go and have a chat and afterwards I really wanted to get over to the Holy Sepulcher for the prayers there.
I know a lot of people are put off by that church since there doesn’t seem to be a mail alter or place of worship but instead it is winding halls with such special things in them without labels or notifications. And because the different Orthodox Catholics and the Roman Catholics can’t agree for a thousand plus years about anything in that church it is even more chaotic. It lacks all organization but I love it. I feel like I could get lost their for hours and that I can always find a nook to go and pray/ meditate in.
There is just something so special and divine about spending Good Friday at Calvary… it was worth all the effort to get there!
Life is amusing at times. This morning when I woke up, I had a few hours before I needed to leave for my weekend in Jerusalem. It seemed like the perfect time to blog or even journal. I got up and made myself a nice cup of tea, got my journal, a pen and my computer and snuggled myself back in bed ready to let my thoughts gush forth…. I had not a thing to say! I couldn’t think of a single interesting event from my week… so instead of using my time wisely I played tetris for two hours, an absolute waste of my time. I then cleaned my room, packed my things, and took a shower which I needed because I stilled smelled like and was covered in ash from the huge Samaritan Passover bonfires I went to the night before.
I don’t think I am as traumatized by the shower as I was the first two weeks. I hope I am getting used to it. When I first arrived, I prayed a lot before taking a shower. I prayed for hot water. I prayed that the filth of the bathroom wouldn’t somehow attack me. I prayed that I wouldn’t freeze to death on the process. I was all very traumatic and I guess being the drama queen that I am didn’t help. But then Isabel, the Scottish teacher scrubbed that bathroom and I found some Lysol and sprayed it down. It also warmed up a few degrees and mostly I accepted the situation and I don’t like showering but being clean has its rewards. I also started documenting how many seconds of hot water we get. On average it is 35 seconds of hot water followed by 2 minutes of icy cold water, over and over again. I have asked every Palestinian I know what their hot water at their homes are like and they promise that they get at least ten minutes of it at a time. I asked my housemates why we haven’t complained or obviously gotten the broken water heater fixed and they said that the apartment we are in is new. Before December they lived in a house about a mile down the street. The teachers lived there for a year and a half and all 13 of them complained nonstop for a year and a half about the hot water situation there. They complained so much that the school finally moved them to this brand new building and they didn’t feel like they had the right to utter one more word about it. Fair enough, I guess……
Weekends here are on Friday and Saturday. Friday is the holy day for the Muslims and Saturday being the day for the Jews. Christians are not as important in this part of the world, we are seen as neutral and somewhat bothersome, like a kid sister who wants to play in the war games going on. However my school out of respect for my faith has given me Easter Sunday off this year so that I could come down to Jerusalem to celebrate the holy of holies in the holiest of cities in the world. I would have come to Jerusalem anyways to work with Sudanese refugees here anyways but it is pretty awesome to run over the church of the Holy Sepulcher, the church built over Golgotha, the exact spot where Jesus was crucified and in the same church and building is the tomb where Jesus was buried and rose from the dead. Last week when I was here I spent some time researching when and where things would happen this week so I knew I needed to be here by 3pm and I from my experience I knew it would take around three hours to get here. What I hadn’t taken into account was that it was Friday in Palestine so NOTHING would be open or running AND it was Friday of Passover here in Israel so NOTHING would be open or running and that Security would be impossible.
Usually it is really easy to catch at taxi or shared taxi from my apartment or even my street. And if for some reason that didn’t work if I just walked to the main street there would be plenty of taxi’s driving by there. I had to walk for 30 minutes through the Palestinian checkpoint almost to the center of town before any taxi passed by, and lucky for me there was one seat left in it. As he was dropping everyone off I looked around and realized there was no way that I was going to be able to find another shared taxi to the checkpoint with out having to wait an hour or two. Shared taxi’s don’t leave until all the seats are full and on a day like that when there wasn’t any one around it could take a long time. So I asked the driver if he would drive me all the way to the first checkpoint and I would pay. He dropped me off and the checkpoint was abandoned except for the dozen or so Israeli guards manning it. They very politely checked my passport and visa and let me through. I then went over the “Services” the shared mini-van taxi’s to sit and wait an hour until 6 other people came through the checkpoint who all wanted to go to Ramallah. They put me in the front seat which I suspected because this has happened several times before was to make the car look less likely to have terrorist in it since obviously I as an American wouldn’t have anything to do with that and maybe it might make it easier to get through the next few checkpoints. The Israeli guards balance out being polite to the Americans and interrogating the Palestinians who come through. Maybe with my presence we can get through faster and easier, I don’t mind being used. While I am waiting one of the drivers/ guys hanging out there strikes up a conversation with me. At first I was hesitant to talk with him because it is forbidden for this type of conversation to take place between men and women. He should be respecting that I am a woman and leaving me alone. Plus from my perspective it can get old everyone trying to practice their English on me and asking tons of personal questions that they translate to everyone standing around making me even more a spectacle then I am. But his English was amazing and he spends most of the year living in New York City and we have actually a good conversation about the outrageous rents there compared to Los Angeles where he used to live. About 25 minutes into the conversation the other drivers yell at him that he is not respecting me and to leave me alone. He realized what he has done and apologizes for intruding on my space and leaves me to read the book that I have in my bag. Eventually the taxi fills up and we are on our way. Five miles later we hit the next checkpoint. Unlike the first one we can all stay in the taxi and don’t have to switch to a new one. Usually Israeli soldiers just glance into the car and do a “spot check” but because it is Passover they ask for everyone’s ID’s and permits to be in this part of Palestine. They inspect each car carefully and open every trunk and look in every box and bag before letting the next car move on. While inspecting us, someone has taken our Passports and ID’s to call them all in. We pull through the checkpoint and wait for a soldier to bring us our documents.
We drive about ten more miles to the next checkpoint and go through the same process again.
These two checkpoints weren’t in existence two weeks ago and now they are getting tighter and tighter every week. However I heard that two weeks ago they opened up completely a few other checkpoints that were even tougher. It is a strange world to live in, trying to figure out Israeli and Palestinian checkpoints.
Eventually a million and a half speed bumps later, (The speed bumps are all over and were put in by the Israeli army to slow people down and to make get-aways more challenging) we arrive at the bus station in the center of Ramallah. Usually this city is hopping and a crazy place but it has completely shut down for Friday and I quickly walked over to the bus station to catch a bus to al-quits, or Jerusalem. Again we have to wait a long time for the bus to fill up. I am so thankful for my time in china where I was trained well to wait for buses to fill up. I think my entire first year there, I was so mystified to why busses didn’t run on schedules and why we would have to wait hours in big empty stations for the possibility of people coming. I now 12 years later like that this means that there will always be a bus waiting for me, that I can’t ever miss a bus. That it gives me time to read a book. I environmentally it makes sense that busses should run full and not empty just because of following a schedule. It all actually makes sense to me now and waiting is just part of traveling. And I like that it is out of my hands. When I drive in America I feel like if I were to drive more aggressively or figure out how to beat the traffic lights I could get places on time. But here, inshallah you make it on time or if you need to, pay and take a taxi.
It is always fascinating to see who and what walks through a bus station. Palestinians have large families so it isn’t strange to see them walk through with 5 or 6 kids. The some women wear head-scarves and some don’t. Everyone has their own way of expressing their style and level of belief with their scarves. Some women wear the full thing where only their eyes show. One lady had mitten and all kinds of clothing on to ensure not a single spot of skin would show. Most wear a colorful scarf around their head. But how they style the scarf and how the coordinate it with the rest of their outfits just fascinates me. And still other women don’t wear scarves at all. Those women have the most amazing hairstyles and always look like they just stepped out of a salon. In Ramallah there are many different international aid organizations staff by internationals from all over the world. They mix right in and it can be really hard to spot them. Unlike when I was in East Asia and it was easy to spot a foreigner a mile away I can’t tell them apart from the crowd. So many Palestinians have either lived parts of their lives overseas or have family who does and sends them back shoes and clothes, that my usual tell-tale signs don’t work here. So many of them speak English or other languages well that just listening in on a conversation doesn’t always help either. But yesterday there were a few obvious foreigners wondering around the station, I could spot them because they weren’t as fashionably dressed as everyone else and they seemed as lost and confused as I usually feel here.
The bus finally took off for Jerusalem, well for the final check point. Until this point I hadn’t left Palestine. All of these checkpoints so far were to control travel amongst local people from village to village. If you really want to get around a checkpoint and have a car, it wouldn’t be impossible to do at all. The night before when I went to the Samarian village and asked my students how to get through their checkpoint after it closes at 3 every afternoon they said that you just crawl under it. I didn’t understand them so they acted it out.. they literally every afternoon crawl under the gate to get home after school. They looked at us like we were idiots not to see the obvious.
The strictest and most secure checkpoint is at the border between the West Bank and Israel. They put airport security, even at the most stringent of times to shame. You stand in a series of metal coral pens and go through revolving gates to get to the x-ray machines. If things get heated up you can get trapped in the revolving gates and have to wait inside them until everyone calms down. Then have your bags x-rayed and a very sensitive metal detector before presenting your travel documents to the very thick bullet proof windows with people with all kinds of guns strapped to them. It is intense and if you hadn’t figured out by then, you really realize that you live in a war zone. It gives all kinds of perspective.
After going through all of that, you go and get on a bus and wait once again for it to fill up. Depending on what happens at security, you may or may not be back on the same bus with the same people.
From there the bus follows the outside of the wall built around portions of Palestine for a while before making its way into Jerusalem. The first time I came through I was amazed that the two cites are only a few miles apart.
Because it took so long to get down here this time I don’t stop at my friends apartment to drop off my stuff and let them know I made it safely. Instead I headed right over to the old city to Notre Dame hotel/ church where the Legionaries have daily English mass and today, had Good Friday services. They were amazing and there was such an interesting international mix of people there. One guy and I kept looking at each other. I swear I went to college with him in Ohio years ago. And some of the consecrated Regnum Christie women were equally familiar looking from all the different times I have met them or been on retreats with them. However since it was Good Friday it didn’t seem the time or place to go and have a chat and afterwards I really wanted to get over to the Holy Sepulcher for the prayers there.
I know a lot of people are put off by that church since there doesn’t seem to be a mail alter or place of worship but instead it is winding halls with such special things in them without labels or notifications. And because the different Orthodox Catholics and the Roman Catholics can’t agree for a thousand plus years about anything in that church it is even more chaotic. It lacks all organization but I love it. I feel like I could get lost their for hours and that I can always find a nook to go and pray/ meditate in.
There is just something so special and divine about spending Good Friday at Calvary… it was worth all the effort to get there!
Monday, April 6, 2009
forbidden
The other international teachers joke all the time about what is forbidden....
The first day I visited the school one of the American male teachers was introducing me to the Palestinian teachers and told me he couldn't introduce me to one of them because it was forbidden for him to talk to her. There had been some sort of miss understanding before and her husband said she was no longer aloud any contact with him in anyway shape or form... I wasn't sure how to take that all, and then last week when i realized they share the same classroom i realized how crazy it all was.
I know majority of what is forbidden is still unknown to me...
In talking to the Palestinian teachers, I had asked them if any one had been to my apartment to visit the international teachers... they had made strange comments about how horrible/ primitive/ messy my place is. (which I had agreed, my new house mates are serious slobs) When I asked they reacted very odd. I had assumed they were afraid of the apartment or something. I asked about it last night to the Scottish teacher and she said they couldn't come because it is forbidden for them to visit since there are two unmarried women sharing a house with two unmarried men. I didn't realize how scandalous it is. I would love to live in a separate place away from my two male co-workers. The school is the one who put us all together into one flat. Isabelle the Scottish teacher had a dear friend die on Thursday. She spent the weekend in mourning and no one came to visit her, except on of the male Arab teachers from the school. And she said if it was ever found out that the male housemates weren't home at the time that he came it would be a serious problem. As it was him coming to visit her in her time of need was forbidden.
The first day I visited the school one of the American male teachers was introducing me to the Palestinian teachers and told me he couldn't introduce me to one of them because it was forbidden for him to talk to her. There had been some sort of miss understanding before and her husband said she was no longer aloud any contact with him in anyway shape or form... I wasn't sure how to take that all, and then last week when i realized they share the same classroom i realized how crazy it all was.
I know majority of what is forbidden is still unknown to me...
In talking to the Palestinian teachers, I had asked them if any one had been to my apartment to visit the international teachers... they had made strange comments about how horrible/ primitive/ messy my place is. (which I had agreed, my new house mates are serious slobs) When I asked they reacted very odd. I had assumed they were afraid of the apartment or something. I asked about it last night to the Scottish teacher and she said they couldn't come because it is forbidden for them to visit since there are two unmarried women sharing a house with two unmarried men. I didn't realize how scandalous it is. I would love to live in a separate place away from my two male co-workers. The school is the one who put us all together into one flat. Isabelle the Scottish teacher had a dear friend die on Thursday. She spent the weekend in mourning and no one came to visit her, except on of the male Arab teachers from the school. And she said if it was ever found out that the male housemates weren't home at the time that he came it would be a serious problem. As it was him coming to visit her in her time of need was forbidden.
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