U4 Tradition & Traición of the Ivri

Yarr! Off to battle, feathered friends. Bil'in, a village in the Western Ramallah district, has been holding weekly protests against the nature of the "Separation Barrier" for two years now. I'm currently in a bus filled with Israelis coming from Jerusalem, and topped off with Internationals.

Rest well, friends, because I can tell you now that if you're reading this, I have survived this highest-risk jaunt that I have undergone into the Palestinian territories. In the last two years over 600 people have been injured at the weekly protests in Bil'in. (about 6 per demo). This is going to be an especially large demo, 50 from Jerusalem, 150 from Tel Aviv.

Now, on to recount my favorite parts of last week. For Rosh Chodesh, Sunday night, I studied Rambam with my friend Jitzchak (pronounced like Yitzchak), and some longbeard from Croatia (whose name I don't remember) in a room full of Chassidish men. We read Chapter 18 of something or other from Mishneh Torah. It was about how you determine, for ritual reasons, that it's a new month. After reading for maybe 20 minutes, Jitz breaks out a bottle of Vodka, and pours it around, and has us offer a br'acha (blessing) for the other two people. Then the next morning I woke up early (6:45ish) and met up with Jitz to study Chasidut with Rav Brat at Simchat Shlomo. It was a great morning, it was really sweet to be among these Jewish learners, and eating hamentaschen and drinking tea with this Rabbi. The learning isn't compartmentalized: human needs are addressed as an equivalent important aspect of learning.

On Wednesday after Ulpan, I brought Maja and Josh into Ramallah. I met Josh the week before at a lunch with some friends of mine, and he mentioned something about wanting to go into the West Bank with civilian clothing. I offered to bring him in if he wanted, and he took me up on it. We got a later start, and didn't get to the service taxis' station until 2:30 or so. We ended up waiting a while, but eventually got one.
Maja had never been to Ramallah before, but Josh had. He was in the Israeli military in 2002, driving tanks down the road, as part of Operation Defensive Shield. I can't quote you the Rambam on it, I know the mitzvah of bringing someone who used to be a soldier somewhere back as a "regular" (foreign) person, and "rehumanizing" that space for them has got to be in the Top 613.
What courage, to confront the fear that has been driven into you of the people around you; and equally, to give up your positionalism and just to accept what is offered.
We met with a Palestinian friend of mine in Ramallah, and sat for a short while at a nargila bar, the same place where I had watched a demonstration the week before. We went walking through Ramallah, what a trip! Seeing places I remembered from three years ago. Like: there used to be a falafel stand right there! And: that's where I used to catch a service to Budrus! Mansour told us that the place where the service taxis brought us initially into Ramallah used to not be there; it used to be a police station.(1)

But today in Ramallah, it was a beautiful day out, and I could eat as much falafel as I wanted. Josh, on the other hand is strictly kosher, and for some reason there aren't too many kosher restaurants in Ramallah. Maja asked a lot of questions. Mansour knew lots of people on the street, and seemed to have lots of brothers and uncles and such, who he would shake hands. I wanted to see Biddu, where I had protested three years ago, the town where Mansour is from, Northwest of Jerusalem, so the four of us piled into a service.

A couple of checkpoints later, we cruised into the little town where our host grew up. Many Palestinian homes have a totally decked out home with art and nice couches and nice tables, as a sort of visitor hosting room. It's quite incredible, and sometimes a little difficult to feel comfortable in, because it's kind of over-the-top. But it really demonstrates Palestinian commitment to being good hosts! I kind of remember my grandparents having a room like this, it was the room that I never went into!

We had an interesting discussion, that ranged from religion (kosher vs. halal), to visa issues, to effective/ineffective protesting. Josh made a good connection with Mansour and his wife, and I hope they are able to keep in touch.

One interesting facet of the dynamics of protests in the OPT is that the Israelis who are most willing to come are anarchists, often with ripped clothing, dyed hair, and dietary restrictions, all of which are completely backwards within a Palestinian cultural framework. And as committed as these anarchists become their extreme social liberalism may prevent them from understanding these communities that they are in solidarity with; at the end of the day, there will be a high level of distancing.
On the other hand, a black-hatter, while typically politically disconnected from, if not opposed to the political stances of their Palestinian neighbors, would be able to relate much more in terms of living a traditional lifestyle, and therefore having similar customs, joys, and struggles, internally. So my progressive religious friends here in Jerusalem, they are high quality candidates for creating meaningful relationships with Palestinians, hopefully able to transcend both political and religious differences elegantly.

Another thing that I've learned (and re-learned) in the last month or two is how important it is for this journey to be owned by the journey-goer. While I may help to facilitate someone crossing a border, I may offer some advice, a key perspective, this journey is not mine. Josh thanked me over and over again, smiling wide, for helping him make this journey across. This is a broader principle than just this context in which I'm writing; it's a basic issue of empowerment. If I say that I *brought* him into the West Bank (like I wrote above), I'm missing a major point. I helped guide him into the West Bank; he brought himself. This also helps relieve the extreme responsibility attached to doing *anything* contrary to societal standards.

The I-told-you-so's would quite clearly point out that there were three Americans, not too different from our little group, that got kidnapped just the day before, in Nablus.(2)

Forgive them, chevre, for they do not realize what violence it is to uphold a social standard of people not being able to experience others' lives, fully. This is holy work we do here, we cannot let it be guided by the conventional wisdom of the masses.

These very same social standards tricked my mother into struggling with the fact that I dropped out of high school. "You've chosen a different path, I don't know how to help you with it." I beg of you, friend: cross these boundaries. The world needs it. Learn to use your mind, and be able to do those things that systems of oppression would have you feel safer not knowing about. When you stand out, you give the rest of us permission to do the same.

B'ahavah,
Ya'akov m'oly
Jacob in J-Town

(1) Mansour filled us in on a version of the story: at the inception of the current Intifada, two Israelis were held at the police station there, before a mob of Palestinians killed them, and mutilated their bodies. Commentary: an Italian camera crew captured the frenzied masses celebrating their kill. This was in the aftermath of Israeli forces killing over 100 Palestinians in the first week of the Intifada in October 2000. Josh later filled us in that this moment is etched into the memory of most Israelis alive today, and known as The Lynch (Ha-Lynch). Before this, Israeli forces expected Palestinian police to cooperate with them on some level.
The police station got turned into rubble, as well as many other places throughout the West Bank, as a take-home lesson.

(2) http://www.guardian.co.uk/worldlatest/story/0,,-6428500,00.html

U3 Three For Free

--Motzei Shabbat--
1.

I'm on a train from Nahariyya to Tel Aviv, where I will grab a connection to Jerusalem. Total cost around 13 dollars. The people across the aisle from me are speaking English, which is distracting. There's a kid speaking Hebrew shrilly aways down. I'm on my way back from Kibbutz Sasa in the North, to Jerusalem, in the center-east of the country. Total travel time, perhaps 3.5 hours the way that I'm going. I don't find a conversation nearly as distracting as a monologue. If I had headphones I'd put them on. I guess it's worth investigating if I have any...

Can't find any. But I found some halvah, almost as good. I put my hood up. That doesn't help almost at all. With my hat on too, it still doesn't help much. Okay, Jacob, concentrate. You are bigger than this. You can tune them out, you can focus yourself and say what it is you want to say.

Good.

Last week I went to Ramallah. I think it was on... a Tuesday. Anyways, it wasn't long after the construction-type work that was happening at Haram Al-Sharif (Dome of the Rock, Al-Aqsa Mosque), and there were huge protests in the street. I watched from a third storey narguila bar. Mansour was hosting me graciously; he wouldn't let me, the American Jew, pick up the tab (probably a total of 4 dollars for soft drinks and nargila).

The loudspeaker tells me that we are reaching Central Haifa (Chaifa Merkaz). Across the aisle they are talking about books about love.

I like the train.

So, I went to Ramallah, but one of the Arabs in my Ulpan said I should wear a hat or something so that I didn't look like a Jewy Jew travelling through Palestine. I get it. It sucks, but I get it. I like the way my hair looks, I like my funktified peyos. It's a minor death to hide your identity, at all, ever. I wore a bandana on my head, I think it helped.

Mansour greeted me well, we talked about ISM a little, about why he wasn't involved, about where it is today, and the ways he's involved now. And we watched, as perhaps 10, or 15 thousand men walked solemnly through the street, hands folded in front, dressed pretty nicely. And they were shouting too: a lot of religious sloganing. About God, and how great he is, for example.

A new friend's analysis of the situation is thus: this is a non-issue. The temporary path was cutting through the women's side for praying at the Kotel. There wasn't enough room for them to pray. Finally, the Israeli authority agreed to fix it. Because it was within 100 feet of Al-Aqsa, it created a stir, but there was no real issue in terms of damage to the Mosque. Their leaders are lying and misinforming their people in order to galvanize their ranks, and these protests are happening as far away as Kashmir.
Okay, so it's a non-issue, so it's bullshit. But this is symptomatic of a different problem; Muslims should be included in decisions related to Al-Aqsa, even if it's 50 feet away. There's an Israeli saying: it's better to be smart than to be right.

Back in Ramallah, a falafel sandwich is 75 cents, so I got two of them. I walked around the town a little, marvelling at the spectacle. The protest had great security; they paced themselves well; the slogans were clear and able to be followed (if you understood Arabic); it was formidible in every sense. Content with my short adventure, I grabbed a 'service taxi' back to Jerusalem for a dollar. On the way back, we went through Qalandia checkpoint, which looks way different now; rather than standing in a 20 person line, handing my passport to the soldier, and crossing into Israel after answering a couple questions about where I had been, this looks now like any international border, where the vehicles can drive through, and talk to a beaurocrat in a booth who decides whether you pass or not.

All the Palestinians had to load off, but myself, the driver, and a couple of other people stayed in the vehicle. I don't know what their status was that they didn't have to walk through the checkpoint. Nobody even spoke to me, much less checked my passport, I stayed in the service taxi the whole time. On the other side of the checkpoint, the Palestinians that had loaded off before filed back in.

2.
One night, I went to hear Tali speak about her experience. She's Israeli, and she spent time in Jenin, and was hanging out with the wrong crowd (ie Palestinian militants). She was arrested, interrogated; they asked her if she would work for them, and spy on Jihad Islami. She refused, and went to jail for two years. I caught a ride in the same car as her back towards Tel Aviv; our driver wasn't an ace on the roads, and we had a hard time finding the right road to Tel Aviv. Finally, we found some Tel Aviv signs to follow, and ten minutes later ran into a checkpoint; the road goes through the West Bank for part of the way. Because Tali was strictly forbidden from going to the West Bank, we turned around, and drove back ten minutes to a place where we could hook up with a road to Tel Aviv that *didn't* go through the West Bank. It's kind of a difficult thing, when you don't even properly know how to avoid the West Bank if you wanted to.

While I was in Tel Aviv, I was hanging out with Callie (Berman's friend), who used to be roommates with Alexis (in Cairo), who used to be my roommate (in Oly). Anyways, Callie is working with an organization called "Chalonot." ("Windows") They're super-cool; they develop cross-cultural curricula, events, gatherings for Israelis and Palestinian youth, and they publish their work as journalists (print and video). They put out an Arabic-Hebrew magazine together. They also offer humanitarian support.

Hung out on the beach with a family friend (Yardena); Dropped in on an infoshop, because I heard that I'm in a movie (called Bi'lin Habibti); went on a long trek to track down my grandfather's first cousin (left a note on her door).

3.
Kibbutz Sasa looks pretty much the same as I remember it; a little quaint people-sized village. It's very practical, very personable. Getting there was a trip; I took a religious bus up, on which they segregate by gender. When I was looking for information about the bus online, all I could find were references to a woman who rode on the bus and wouldn't move to the back (sound familiar?). She was assaulted by men on the bus, so she's suing the public bus company, that they let this happen.

In any case, I benefited from the discounts offered this religious bus, although I did experience a bit of anxiety after I boarded and didn't see any seats available in the men's section. I mean, I think I would have been okay to sit in the women's section (if not just a little out-of-place), but I really didn't want to draw any extra attention to myself. As it was, I was the only guy who wasn't wearing black-and-white, with a black velvet kipah. And it got me very close to my destination.

So I hung out on the kibbutz for shabbat, which was a funny experience because nobody I know there does any shabbat ritual, besides not working. But my home-away-from-home was gracious enough to support me to light candles, bless wine, challah, and sing some songs (by myself). I got to be the only person in the dining hall wearing a kipah.

I kind of got a glimpse that I would personally enjoy living at a place like Sasa. Which is a good thing, because I keep talking like I want to start a kibbutz near Olympia. I better like what a kibbutz is, if I'm going to make it a huge part of my life!

Right after shabbat, I got my hair cut, for the express purpose of making myself more beautiful. Okay, really I got my hair cut because now I feel more comfortable traveling in the West Bank. Here's to the day when I can travel in the West Bank with Peyos and long hair and a kippah, and every Palestinian who sees me will know that I am there to support him and her.

Well, I suppose that's enough for now. To Bed, To Bed, L'Chayim!

Shavua Tov! Shalom y'all,
Jacob in J-Town

1 Article about Al-Aqsa Shenanigans:
http://jewschool.com/2007/02/08/dont-believe-the-hype-mughrabi-path-r...
2 Windows- http://www.win-peace.org/
3 Religious Action Center's article about the bus thing:
http://rac.org/advocacy/irac/enewsletters/january_monthly_2006/egged_...

U2 Stepping

A few days later, I'm in a very different place. Not physically: I'm sitting in the same chair typing on the same computer that I did before. But my mood has changed; my matzav ruach (the situation with my soul) is much better.

I've gone to two days of ulpan, I've seen my lovely vegan anarchist friends, and I feel a lot more at home in general. And I've skipped in Jerusalem. It was to cross the street quickly, but it counts nonetheless. In fact it may even count extra, because I skipped without even thinking about it.

I'm becoming friends with some of the Arabs in my Ulpan (Hebrew language) class. The class keeps me focused on something concrete, which can be very useful out here! This place can take you so many
different directions.

My plan tomorrow is to go to Tel Rumeida (in Hebron) to hear the stories of various families. I'm going with a group called "Bnei Avraham", Israeli activists focusing on Hebron, and the difficult situation there. They'll get me back to Jerusalem before shabbat.

--Monday; Yom Sheni
I think Friday was the first day I defied my "agreement" with the Defense Ministry; I went to Hebron with Bnei Avraham. We met up at a park about a twenty minute walk from the place I've been staying. They put the number at around 70; between Bnei Avraham and Ta'ayush, and random internationals, we ended up with maybe 50 Israelis and 20 or so internationals. One bus left from Tel Aviv, and I was with the J'lem
crew.
Met some lovely folks, including other rad Jews (wait, I forget, am I a rad Jew?), and including other Ulpan-students. People from Germany, Canada, random people from the United States that looked like they
would be more at home in Miami Beach, somehow coming on this "alternative tourism" view of Hebron.

Hebron is the 2nd largest Palestinian city clocking in at around 400,000 people. Jews had historically lived there in small numbers until 1929, when several 67 people were killed in that city (The Hebron Massacre). Following the 1967 war, there was a movement to "re-settle" Hebron, and on Passover a group led by Rabbi Levinger checked into the main hotel in Hebron, and then refused to leave. Life really only started getting difficult with respect to the settlers in1986, according to one of the Palestinians I met in Hebron.

Anyways, I don't know exactly what to tell. Along the main roads, shops that belonged to Arab shopkeepers have been desecrated by Jewish holy symbols. The gates to the shop are welded shut, and just about every gate either has a "magen david" (Star of David) spray-painted on it, or else a Hebrew phrase along the lines of "Death to the Arabs." The situation there that we were there to witness, and lend our support in their changing their situation for the better.

The main road over by Tel Rumeida is called Shuhada street, and Palestinians haven't been allowed to walk on it since 2000. The issue was caught in legal beaurocracy for 5 1/2 years, before a decision was issued: legally, Palestinians were allowed to walk on the street, they just weren't being allowed to in practice. This is the situation today: the high court has ruled that Palestinians can walk on the road. Unfortunately, the military chief in charge of Hebron is defying the law by continuing to instruct the soldiers to prevent Palestinians from the road.

So anyways, we came and we went, but when we went, we held a few signs and banners, walking down Shuhada street, and as a point of success, we had Palestinians walking with us along the entirety of the street that they have been prevented from. So this is an important, yet symbolic resistance, especially in Hebron where tensions are so thick you can cut them.

Tensions between whom? Soldiers and Palestinians? Nope. The current batch of soldiers administering Hebron are actually decently respectful, as compared with the usual. A large group of them are kibbutzniks who were all part of a socialist Zionist youth movement, which means that they have more "liberal" or feeling, tendencies. The issue is with the Settlers' teenagers, and the unequal treatment by the law enforcement in the area.
The settlers currently live "above" the Palestinians on Tel Rumeida, which is to say that on the hillside there are houses built up from the valley below, and at the very top of the hill are the nice polished settler buildings. There are maybe four different little settlement enclaves throughout Hebron, and they command a strong presence within the city, despite only numbering several hundred. It's amazing the chutzpah that they display, it's an amazingly confusing situation. For scared people, they sure didn't put themselves in a situation to be well liked. They act aggressively towards the Palestinians, who live all around them, which for me was a testament of how quiet the Palestinian population there truly is, despite the wide perception of Palestinians as dangerous. What I'm saying is that 500 Jews are living amongst, on top of, in spite of, tens of thousands of Palestinians. And somehow this works out for them. The Palestinians must be incredibly tolerant, or subjugated, or both.

We watched home videos of the destruction of Palestinian property by settlers living in Hebron. Teenagers, approximately aged 14 to 19 or so, would go out in a big group, dressed like modern orthodox kids on shabbos (kippah, nice clothes, not like the "redneck" settlers I've seen in pictures before). they would go up to Palestinian homes, with Palestinians living in them, and attempt to break what they could.
Windows, gates, doors, flowerpots, whatever. The man holding the camera, a forty year old man, was trembling with fear, while his house was being ransacked. Settler girls would interpose themselves on the
path of Palestinian children walking to school with their mothers, and swing their bags at them, and kick their mothers. The videos are incredibly surreal.
These kids look like the good Yeshiva Jews that knew-- acting out all the hatred, anger, and fear that they had been brought up with. I consider it to be a serious crime to raise your children as settlers in Hebron. Their humanity has been buried by the age of 16. We escaped the Holocaust so that we can actively engage in hating the people who live around us? Okay, sure, plenty of Jews in the US are scared of all the goyim around us, but hopefully it plays a relatively minor part in our lives! These children have been traumatized by being put right over the flame.
In order for the law to intervene, Palestinians must produce evidence of who has done what. Our host told a story. After a raid on his home, he took a picture of the youth with his cell phone. He went to the police station in the nearby settlement. The officer said "do you have evidence?" He showed him the picture on his phone. The police officer copied the picture off of the phone, and onto his computer. Then he deleted the picture from the phone, and from the computer. "Now you don't have evidence. Case closed." What respect I feel for him, that he can withstand this sort of treatment.

The most amazing thing I experienced (as keeps happening when I spend time in Palestine) was the compassion of Palestinians. These mensches who talked about their plight had this to say about their experience living with Jewish settlers. We don't want them to leave; we only want equal treatment under the law. We welcome Jews to live here with us.

For the short demo walking down Shuhada street, another Palestinian led chants.
1, 2, 3, 4, Occupation No More.
1, 2, 3, Palestine Must be Free.
And then: 1, 2, 3, Israel Must be Free.
There were audible scoffs and eye-rolling from some Israelis and Internationals.

This is a tricky place: these Palestinians have become wordly enough, aware enough to know that this rhetoric is important and correct in relationship to Israelis. But many Israelis and Internationals have given up hope of working with those Israelis, so for them this becomes an empty exercise, this "solidarity visit." It's a way for them to feel good about themselves and their alignment/involvement, without being able to help these Palestinians build alliances with Israelis.
It's still good that they come, because it's important to these Palestinians that their stories are heard. They just should have their mouths taped shut, because their experience of political frustration is not a tool with which to end the Occupation.

* My First Shabbat

Shabbat, friends, shabbat! Immediately upon returning from that "solidarity visit" I returned back to the apartment, that I fondly refer to as "Shapiros" (that's the name on the apartment door, even though there are no Shapiros currently living there). I prepared myself for shabbat. I invited a couple of people I had connected with on on the Hebron trip, and one accepted. A German girl named Maja (pronounced maya), who is here to study Hebrew. Back in Germany she's studying comparitive religion, so I thought she might like to see how we do shabbos around here (plus she's cute).

We went to Shira Chadasha, an amazing modern orthodox congregation (they use a mechitza there), and people sang, boy did they sing. The whole order of the service, right from the beginning to the end. Ever since I went there for the first time three years ago, Shira Chadasha has become my yardstick for how much ruach a service has. I've only been to a couple of shabbats that are as beautiful and fervent as Shira Chadasha. So Maja went and sat on the women's side, my new friend Tzvi stood in the back, and I sat among the men.

Afterwards, we carried a couple of chairs a fifteen minute walk to a friend of Tzvi/Ari's. She prepared an amazing dinner, and I was really happy with the way the evening went. Ari tipped me off that the host's rules were "no politics." Oh well, I thought to myself. As it turned out, all anyone seemed to talk about was politics; not specifically Israel/Palestine, I mean I did my best to avoid the topic while getting very pressing questions pointed in my direction. Later I learned that it was because someone brought up the issue of gay/lesbian ordination within the conservative movement, which has been a hot issue over the last year. I said "why not just say no bigots allowed?"
After saying it I realized that what I meant to say was "no bigotry allowed" but I was too late-- our host removed herself from the table (as a joke). We all laughed.
Maja got the real deal, which was exciting for me; amazing prayer should have no ethnic/religous/identity limitations. I want everyone to be able to experience at the very least *what it seems like*, even if they aren't able to experience the prayer directly.

Off to meet a friend, this will have to do for now, I've got more things to write about, so expect another one in the next couple days.
I moved into a room of my own in downtown J'lem, only 4 blocks from my ulpan. I'm happy about this (although I'm sure I will continue haunting "Shapiros", I love the people who live there!)

Shalom y'all,
Ya'akov m'oly
Jacob in J-Town

U1 Baruch Haba!

Well, I made it into Israel, in one piece, about 36 hours ago. The
flight from Newark airport to Israel takes a little over ten hours,
and the sky was dark for much of it, which helped to facilitate the
hour or two of sleep that I ended up getting. I was mostly curled up,
as much as one can in an airplane seat, reading books and things. The
flight was uneventful; when we landed a few faithful applauded, myself
among them.

Got off the plane, said the shechiyanu, and proceeded down to passport
control, lined up behind "foreign passports," behind just one other
person. I was feeling thankful that the line wasn't too long, coming
back into the United States sometimes it has taken me over an hour
just to get through the line to customs.

"L'eyfo-"
"Lo m'daber ivrit," I interrupt her. I don't speak Hebrew.
"What are you doing here?"
"I'm visiting friends and travelling."
"Just a moment."
A couple of women come out from the side of my view, and indicate that
I should follow them. "Please leave your things, we'll get them," they
offer, referring to my grey satchel and my guitar in it's case beside
me. "Do you have a cell phone on you?" No, not an Israeli one.

They bring me into a little waiting room, with standard airport
chairs. The only thing different about this place than a terminal is
that it's its own enclosed cubicle, and there seems to be someone
standing guard at the door. The rest of the people, without exception
are not Jewish, which doesn't seem to be a coincidince. I myself am
wearing a kippah, and am very tired, not having slept much on the
flight. I decide not to engage anyone else in conversation.

Perhaps in twenty minutes, they retrieve me, and bring my things as
well, to be checked (again) for security reasons. They scan my guitar
in its case, then take the guitar out of it's case and scan that, then
scan the case, then look inside the guitar, then inside the case. They
pull everything out of my bags, swabbing them with explosive-detection
tools. I felt special: I had about six security personnel just for me!
The woman in charge seemed quite kind, and I actually didn't mind this
part, it seemed very routine, and straightforward; they were just
doing their jobs.

They had me take my money out of my wallet, and then took my wallet
from me. They had me empty my pockets. They brought me to a room with
a couple of men to check me thoroughly: metal-detection, pat-down
search, then "Please bring you pants down to your knees." To make sure
I'm not keeping anything between my legs that shouldn't be there.
Fortunately they never asked me to remove my boxers; I'm glad I can
keep that experience isolated to American jail, for now.

After my belongings had been checked twice, a man named Sami came in,
starting going through my wallet, and asking me questions about
things: about the books I was carrying, about names in my wallet, and
email addresses. Why was I carrying a minidisc recorder? What kind of
recordings was I planning on making? Do I have an example of these
recordings that I could show him? No, I didn't. This CD that says
Stevie Wonder-- is it just music? What if I find some pictures on
there? I just laughed.
I was feeling fortunate that my luggage was 100% kosher-- I didn't
even bring Arabic language study materials that I was considering
bringing.

I felt a slow, tired impatience growing; they had kept me for over an
hour at this point. I had a twinge of empathy for Arabs who experience
this resentment regularly. Sami told me I was going to visit with him
in his office. I looked around, I wasn't sure if he was being
metaphorical; I didn't see any offices nearby. When all of the
security personnel had gone, we left too. Down the hall where the
bathrooms were, and through an unmarked door. We climbed a metal
staircase, chatting lightly. "You know what the Defense Ministry is?"
"Like the IDF?" I asked. "Not exactly," he clarified. "They're
standard military. I'm an intelligence officer. I work for
headquarters." At the top of the staircase, we entered another hall,
turned right and walked up a few steps to his office. He invited me to
sit down there. Besides the fact that I didn't have my stuff with me,
and I was ready to get going in Israel already, I was at least getting
to seem something at least slightly interesting.

He told me that he was going to ask me some simple questions, and that
if I was truthful with him, it would make my life easier. And that I
wasn't, well, you know. He could be a devil. He asked me where I had
been since the last time my passport was stamped for exit from Israel,
three years prior. He probed me for specific countries: Iraq, Iran,
Turkey, Syria, Lebanon, Jordan, Egypt. I told him I'd like to go to
Egypt, but that I haven't been there. I told him the truth: Mexico.
"I TOLD YOU NOT TO LIE TO ME!" he screamed at me. It was true: he had
told me not to lie to him. Clearly he was emphatic on this point. My
mother would get along with him. She also liked to tell me not to lie
to her. I just looked back at him.
He went through everything in my wallet. I have a lot of things that
say "Olympia" on them in my wallet. Such as: Olympia Federal Savings.
The Olympia Film Society. The Olympia Food Co-op. He asked me about an
Olympia Film Society Volunteer Pass. I think he was confused by my
explanation of what OFS is (a nonprofit that runs a theater). There
was a business card in my wallet. Somebody "Khan" who worked for Arab
media, out of Dubai. I actually have no idea where I got that business
card, and told him so. "You are LYING TO ME!" he exclaimed. The long
and the short of it, he did a bit of yelling at me for various
reasons. Perhaps a half hour later, we hadn't gotten too far, and I
told him, "please, just ask me specific questions, and I'll answer
them."
And so he came to tell me that he had a file, and that really what he
wanted to know was, what had I done the last time I was in the area.
And I told him. "Yeah, I travelled to the Palestinian Territories. Is
that what you wanted to know?" And I dropped some names of
organizations that I knew he already knew about. I dropped some names
that I knew he already knew about. I didn't give him as much as he was
hoping though: I understated my travels. I said I had been to
Bethlehem, to Ramallah.
His assistant was bored, had nothing to do. So he set him to work
copying down every single phone number from my American cell phone.
That means that you, dear reader, most likely have your name and phone
number scrawled down on a piece of paper and tucking into a file,
filed under my name, in some military intelligence office near Tel
Aviv.

He stopped being mad at me. I appreciated this. I had a pretty strong
sense that he was fucking with me the whole time; that is it say, it
was a psychological game he was playing, to try to get me to play
along with what he wanted. I knew this. I wanted to get into Israel.
He told me that he didn't care if I took part in demonstrations, he
was here trying to make sure I wasn't caught up with any terrorists
that I didn't know about. My personal opinions, and what I liked to do
with them, were my business. He was trying to protect me. (I doubted
this privately, but appreciate the possibility that he was being
genuine) He told me that he had a file on me, and that he knew some of
the things I had done the last time I was here; some ISMer had talked
at their last "exit interview," and had apparently talked about me
rather extensively.
So I told him everything. Dropped several first names. Stopped just
short of saying that I had actually been in, and been "trained" by,
the ISM, because I know that the Israeli military considers them to be
next-to-terrorists. He asked me if I had ever been arrested, and I
hadn't. How about detained at a checkpoint... well, yes in fact I
have; I told him where. He told me he had a record of that too.

Funny enough, Sami recognized one of the names that I dropped. He
brought up her picture on the screen (very impressive!). She sitting
in the same place that I was sitting in that very moment. He told me
the story of putting her on a plane in handcuffs, that he said was
notorious within ISM. He told me about a Jewish ISMer who he had
helped to kick out of the country. Her father is Jewish. She is never
allowed in Israel again. He told me about beating up a very large man
who tried to fight him. Showed a picture of him hog-tied on the floor,
the broken glass, the broken corner of the wall.

He had his assistant buy me a sandwich, while I waited downstairs for
him to talk to HQ.

He apparently decided I was a good sort (or at least that's the role
he was playing in this psychological game), and said that he needed to
report to HQ, and they would decide what to do with me. He didn't
think I was a security threat.

Waiting, waiting, waiting... I started talking up the other people in
the security-cubicle. One guy was a UK Businessman who vowed never to
come to Israel again; he was here on business, for just two days. He
had been waiting two hours. I fell asleep for maybe a half hour.

Sami came and got me, brought me back up to the super-secret room. He
told me that HQ wasn't happy with me, didn't want me in the country.
And that, contrary to what he said earlier, it mattered to him that i
had been to demonstrations. That when I demonstrated against the
activities of Israel, I was demonstrating against him. He showed me a
piece of paper that had a typed out agreement on it, and told me to
look at it, not to do anything, just to look at it.

The paper said (among other things)

AGREEMENT

"I agree not to go into Judea/Samaria" (Israeli governmental language
for the West Bank)
"I agree not to go to demonstrations."

And it also said that if I break my agreement, it could have an effect
on my continued stay in Israel. He then asked me to sign it. So I did.

In the security-cubicle, I met some other nice young ladies from
Istanbul. A woman brought me my bags, and told me that I could leave.
It was after six pm. My flight landed at 9:15am. I chased her down and
asked her which way was out, then found a sherut to take me to
Jerusalem, then found Ari's apartment which was dark but open. The
cool thing about a sherut is that it will take you to right where you
are going in Israel.

Welcome to Israel, young Jew. Eretz HaKodesh. Land of Our Dreams.

Ari and his roommates have been great. It's mostly just confusing to
me how to talk about what happened; eight hours of interrogation
mostly just freaks everyone else out, which probably doesn't help me
out very much. I'm still pretty shaken up by the experience. It's the
experience of dealing with any military beaurocracy, whether Myanmar
or Israel, Indonesia or Columbia.

On further reflection, Sami is not a bad guy. He's doing a terrible
thing, though. He is an agent of oppression, and as a man, he's been
thoroughly hurt and conditioned into believing that he should scare
people into being separate from one another. This is very sad. He and
I talked wistfully about the time when any Israeli would happily walk
freely into Nablus to go shopping, no less. He said any family member
who cared enough to show their loved ones a good time, by necessity
would take them to the Territories! But that was ten years ago. Things
have changed, in the minds of so many.

Friends, I hope this will pass: I feel incredibly violated by the
State of Israel, which purports to support my Jewish values, my
experience of "ivri", my boundary-crossing. But this is exactly what I
was instructed not to do, by the State: cross any boundaries.

When, I ask. When will the intifada end in the minds of the Israeli
security forces? Who among Palestinians is even authorized to declare
an end to an intifada? The truth on the ground looks like people are
dragging their feet. The Palestinians are covered in mud; they have
enough internal problems not to be fighting Israel at the moment. I
don't see a resistance movement. I see discouragement, humiliation,
suicide. The IDF might do well to decide that the Second Intifada is
already over, and to attempt to normalize relations with West Bank
Palestine.

While my mother taught me not to lie, I only honor that with people,
people who are not representatives of systems of authority. Sami did
not want to forbid me from going into the Territories; while he
doesn't personally think it's a good idea, he has no reason to stop me
from doing it.

And I will keep crossing boundaries, while I have the ability.

And today I didn't yet feel up for skipping in Jerusalem, but soon I
will. Tomorrow I will start Ulpan (Hebrew study school), that goes
Sunday through Thursday 8:30 to 1pm. We'll see how that goes.

Thank you all so much for being there!
The phone number that you can reach me on while I'm here is
011-972-544-325102. I'm 10 hours ahead of the west coast, 7 hours
ahead of the east coast. Let me know if I can call you in the middle
of your night, because sometimes I might want to talk to a friend.

b'shalom v'salaam,
ya'akov m'oly-- jacob in Jerusalem

PreTrip Shakedown

Hello friends, relatives, federal agents, etc:

I am going to Israel/Palestine. Heck ya. The first news is a slight
setback: I'm fighting a flu, and will be leaving three days later than
expected. I will arrive in Tel Aviv around 9:15am on Monday Feb 5.
Until then, I'm in NYC! I'm going to a Tu B'shvat seder hosted by Kol
Zimra (I don't know much about either Tu B'shvat [the birthday of the
trees] or Kol Zimra [a super-fab minyan in NYC, and also apparently in
J'lem])

The next piece of information is relevant if you want to talk to me in
real time (ie on the phone) while I'm in I/P. your key is a calling
card. And where will you get that calling card from, might you ask? I
recommend 1st-usa.com. For those of you who have already asked, I'll
send you a 20% off coupon (let me know if you want one). For those of
you who aren't wealthy, and want to split the cost of calling card(s)
with me, I'm totally into that.

I don't know what my cell phone number will be yet in Israel. It will
go out with my first Trip Update.

My general vague plan for my time in I/P is to End the Occupation; in
light of not knowing yet how to end the occupation (and not having
formed a large enough coalition to do so), I will defer to Learning
how to end the occupation. And I will spend my time-
a) studying Hebrew at the Ulpan known as Beit Ha-am
b) Travelling throughout Israel/Palestine
c) Enjoying Being Jewish among cool Jews
d) Enjoying Being Jewish Among cool Palestinians and
e) Showing my mother and brother around Israel/Palestine

I can't wait to go skipping through Jerusalem. In the next couple
days, I hope to get my hair cut with cool semi-traditional peyos.

All the Best!
Jacob, Ya'akov, Yacoub

*If you know people who would like to get updates from me, send me
their email address. If you are getting updates and would rather not
be (or if you're getting multiple copies), let me know that too.