Update 4- Tulkarem and back
The day I left Jerusalem, I went to Tulkarem for the first time in four years. A couple of Olympia friends wanted to visit Flo, who was in Tulkarem for a little while, and the synapses fired in my mechancial brain: here's a Jew (one of them is Jewish) wanting to go to Palestine. That can only mean one thing: I gotta get them in!
Whenever I think this too loudly, a get some feedback, a sort of white noise, which goes something like this:
"Well, what if they weren't Jewish?" And I feel a little sheepish that I wouldn't be as driven to get them to Palestine, I might not have given my day to that effort, going through checkpoint after checkpoint to get them where they want to go; but whatever: I like bringing gentiles into Palestine too, it's just different. A less integrated experience. When there are gentiles who are friends and lovers of Jews, in the same group as them, it's not hard or confusing, because these people by-and-large give Jewish people the space to experience whatever comes up for them, and act as an anchor of safety in an otherwise confusing situation.
So I brought them into Tulkarem. We met up at 9:30 at Damascus Gate (after I overtured them about being on time, it was *I* who was 20 mins late). We caught a 'service' to Ramallah, and on the way, I briefed them on "Hello," "Thank you," and numbers 1 through 5 in Arabic. After being told contradictory information about where the 'service' to Tulkarem was, some especially helpful people drove us the several hundred meters to the parking lot.
Since this was my friends' first time into Palestine, I decided not to just put them in a 'service' and go back to J-town, I also decided that i wanted to go back to Tulkarem to see Flo again, and to hopefully see any Palestinians I had met four years previous.
We hung out waiting for the shuttle to fill up. I lay against a tree outside, munching on 'loos,' which I think are baby almonds, where you eat the whole fruit. It tastes like a cross between sugar-peas and a citrus fruit. I introduced myself to the driver: "Ana Yacoub," and shook his hand. He told me his name too. And then he told a rough-looking guy that my name was Yacoub.
He approached me. "Yacoub is a Jewish name," he says to me, not disguising contempt in his voice.
"Why?" I ask him. (Lesh?) Feigning ignorance seemed best at that time.
This is not a person I want to 'come out' to right now. He asks me where I'm from, and I tell him.
"America is no good," he tells me. "Bush is crazy," I echo back, hoping that this password will be good
enough. Fortunately, he leaves me alone, although I am now distinctly uncomfortable.
Despite the discomfort, I'm really glad that i went with them, because the first checkpoint out of Ramallah, the soldiers pulled us off the 'service' and questioned our intentions, knowledge, and sanity. This could be a bit much to negotiate for anyone's first time to Palestine.
"Listen, if you don't come back, it's us who has to clean it up," the Israeli soldiers tell us. "Haven't you heard of kidnappings? What do you think they'll do if they know you're Jewish?" And truthfully, this question sometimes tests my mind.
I convince the soldiers we know what we're doing, that we're innocuous enough to enter, and smart enough to keep ourselves safe.
We we re-enter the taxi, a distinguished professional in the back seat says he overhead the conversation. "I hope you know they are lying," he says. "You are most welcome. No one wil hurt you."
A stark reality faced me the rest of the way to Tulkarem. Getting to Tulkarem is way harder and more stressful than just going to Ramallah or Bethlehem from J-town, where I've mostly been in the last couple years. We went past no less than five checkpoints, each successively pointing out the ludicrousness of the type of Occupation and Control that is being maintained. Beyond the guise of security, Palestinians are being separated from Palestinians, West Bank from West Bank.
(Let's hope US pressure can change this somewhat, and soon)
I made it into town for a deep embrace from Abed, someone who used to be an ISM coordinator in Tulkarem. He's around 40 years old, a very sweet and safe man, who has spent perhaps five years in Israeli jails in the 80's. Flo acknowledges me minimally, in some ways by necessity (men & women can't hug in the street).
It was instructive to think about the needs of my friend I brought in:
my friend was born female, and now presents as male, and because of this, I was unsure of what gender rules he should follow: the "male rules" which would allow him to wear short sleeves, or the more restrictive "female" standard. He decides that he will not necessarily pass as male, and so adopts the stricter rules.
We visited a prisoners' support organization, which helps the families of prisoners navigate the bureaucracy of visiting prisoners in Israeli jails. All of the people working with the organization have been in jails for 1, 3, 5 years. It was very inspiring to hear their stories and see that they were organizing on behlaf of prisoners.
Later, we had a very lavish lunch- at 17 shekels per person, we may have set a record in the City of Tulkarem that day for the most spent on lunch. Stuffed to the gills, I sought out a 'service' to Ramallah.
While waiting for it to fill up with people, I stopped in the sweets shop across the way. A 10-shekel ($3) package of Palestinian sweets is often a great gift to give to anyone whose house I am staying at.
While talking over my purchase with the shop owner, he asks me,"Are you Muslim? Are you Jewish? Are you Christian?"
Not feeling certain whether this is a safe place to out myself, I tell him I have no religion.
This decision haunts me: here, I specifically came into Tulkarem as a Jew, and when someone asks me directly about my religious orientation, I lie. When I think more about it, this isn't a particualrly important relationship; I may never see this guy again in my life. Still, I don't like the hiding or dishonesty even in this passing exchange. I want him to know that there *are* Jews out there who are willing to gothrough six checkpoints to go to his sweets shop in Tulkarem, who want only the best for him and his people.
I realized that what is holding me back, where my hesitation comes from, is an in ability to communicate in Arabic. I would have felt a lot more comfortable telling him I am Jewish if I could have, immediately afterwards, effectively answered any questions he might have had about that. Instead, I would just be flinging a fact into his lap, and while I might hope that he would do something good with it, he might interpret it any number of ways, and there would be very little possibility for dialogue.
I add a little star next to "learn Arabic" on my mental list of How to End the Occupation.
Today I will be going to the Abayudaya Jewish Community in Uganda for Shabbat. This should be awesome! I hope everyone is well, and is blessed with health and joy this weekend.
Shabbat shalom y'all,
Yakobo in Mbale, Uganda
Whenever I think this too loudly, a get some feedback, a sort of white noise, which goes something like this:
"Well, what if they weren't Jewish?" And I feel a little sheepish that I wouldn't be as driven to get them to Palestine, I might not have given my day to that effort, going through checkpoint after checkpoint to get them where they want to go; but whatever: I like bringing gentiles into Palestine too, it's just different. A less integrated experience. When there are gentiles who are friends and lovers of Jews, in the same group as them, it's not hard or confusing, because these people by-and-large give Jewish people the space to experience whatever comes up for them, and act as an anchor of safety in an otherwise confusing situation.
So I brought them into Tulkarem. We met up at 9:30 at Damascus Gate (after I overtured them about being on time, it was *I* who was 20 mins late). We caught a 'service' to Ramallah, and on the way, I briefed them on "Hello," "Thank you," and numbers 1 through 5 in Arabic. After being told contradictory information about where the 'service' to Tulkarem was, some especially helpful people drove us the several hundred meters to the parking lot.
Since this was my friends' first time into Palestine, I decided not to just put them in a 'service' and go back to J-town, I also decided that i wanted to go back to Tulkarem to see Flo again, and to hopefully see any Palestinians I had met four years previous.
We hung out waiting for the shuttle to fill up. I lay against a tree outside, munching on 'loos,' which I think are baby almonds, where you eat the whole fruit. It tastes like a cross between sugar-peas and a citrus fruit. I introduced myself to the driver: "Ana Yacoub," and shook his hand. He told me his name too. And then he told a rough-looking guy that my name was Yacoub.
He approached me. "Yacoub is a Jewish name," he says to me, not disguising contempt in his voice.
"Why?" I ask him. (Lesh?) Feigning ignorance seemed best at that time.
This is not a person I want to 'come out' to right now. He asks me where I'm from, and I tell him.
"America is no good," he tells me. "Bush is crazy," I echo back, hoping that this password will be good
enough. Fortunately, he leaves me alone, although I am now distinctly uncomfortable.
Despite the discomfort, I'm really glad that i went with them, because the first checkpoint out of Ramallah, the soldiers pulled us off the 'service' and questioned our intentions, knowledge, and sanity. This could be a bit much to negotiate for anyone's first time to Palestine.
"Listen, if you don't come back, it's us who has to clean it up," the Israeli soldiers tell us. "Haven't you heard of kidnappings? What do you think they'll do if they know you're Jewish?" And truthfully, this question sometimes tests my mind.
I convince the soldiers we know what we're doing, that we're innocuous enough to enter, and smart enough to keep ourselves safe.
We we re-enter the taxi, a distinguished professional in the back seat says he overhead the conversation. "I hope you know they are lying," he says. "You are most welcome. No one wil hurt you."
A stark reality faced me the rest of the way to Tulkarem. Getting to Tulkarem is way harder and more stressful than just going to Ramallah or Bethlehem from J-town, where I've mostly been in the last couple years. We went past no less than five checkpoints, each successively pointing out the ludicrousness of the type of Occupation and Control that is being maintained. Beyond the guise of security, Palestinians are being separated from Palestinians, West Bank from West Bank.
(Let's hope US pressure can change this somewhat, and soon)
I made it into town for a deep embrace from Abed, someone who used to be an ISM coordinator in Tulkarem. He's around 40 years old, a very sweet and safe man, who has spent perhaps five years in Israeli jails in the 80's. Flo acknowledges me minimally, in some ways by necessity (men & women can't hug in the street).
It was instructive to think about the needs of my friend I brought in:
my friend was born female, and now presents as male, and because of this, I was unsure of what gender rules he should follow: the "male rules" which would allow him to wear short sleeves, or the more restrictive "female" standard. He decides that he will not necessarily pass as male, and so adopts the stricter rules.
We visited a prisoners' support organization, which helps the families of prisoners navigate the bureaucracy of visiting prisoners in Israeli jails. All of the people working with the organization have been in jails for 1, 3, 5 years. It was very inspiring to hear their stories and see that they were organizing on behlaf of prisoners.
Later, we had a very lavish lunch- at 17 shekels per person, we may have set a record in the City of Tulkarem that day for the most spent on lunch. Stuffed to the gills, I sought out a 'service' to Ramallah.
While waiting for it to fill up with people, I stopped in the sweets shop across the way. A 10-shekel ($3) package of Palestinian sweets is often a great gift to give to anyone whose house I am staying at.
While talking over my purchase with the shop owner, he asks me,"Are you Muslim? Are you Jewish? Are you Christian?"
Not feeling certain whether this is a safe place to out myself, I tell him I have no religion.
This decision haunts me: here, I specifically came into Tulkarem as a Jew, and when someone asks me directly about my religious orientation, I lie. When I think more about it, this isn't a particualrly important relationship; I may never see this guy again in my life. Still, I don't like the hiding or dishonesty even in this passing exchange. I want him to know that there *are* Jews out there who are willing to gothrough six checkpoints to go to his sweets shop in Tulkarem, who want only the best for him and his people.
I realized that what is holding me back, where my hesitation comes from, is an in ability to communicate in Arabic. I would have felt a lot more comfortable telling him I am Jewish if I could have, immediately afterwards, effectively answered any questions he might have had about that. Instead, I would just be flinging a fact into his lap, and while I might hope that he would do something good with it, he might interpret it any number of ways, and there would be very little possibility for dialogue.
I add a little star next to "learn Arabic" on my mental list of How to End the Occupation.
Today I will be going to the Abayudaya Jewish Community in Uganda for Shabbat. This should be awesome! I hope everyone is well, and is blessed with health and joy this weekend.
Shabbat shalom y'all,
Yakobo in Mbale, Uganda
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