Through the Walls of Jericho
There are no walls around Jericho anymore. I probably would have known that if I had read The Bible. In fact, it seems quite isolated. From a distance it might seem to be just a tight community whose only predators are the rocks of the desert.
To get there, we hopped on a small bus at the bus station just outside the walls of Jerusalem's famous Old City. The signs inside this bus show the swooping script of Arabic words, not Hebrew's blocky characters, but that change doesn't really mean anything if you can't read either language. Only 15 minutes after leaving the city center, we had reached a Palestinian village that might be called a suburb. The streets are more clearly lined with trash here. On the side of the road, a dumpster's contents slowly burn. We are only here to transfer, but the driver of our service taxi is waiting to fill up with a few more passengers. Meanwhile, we sat in the car without air conditioning, while outside several men chain smoke their cigarettes in the shade, draped over plastic chairs. It is probably getting close to 100 degrees.
The city of Jericho is completely controlled by the Palestinian Authority. There is an Israeli military post about a mile outside the city's border, monitoring the road in and out. Other than that, however, the city's security and well-being are lead from within. Only a small percentage of the West Bank has this set-up, a step towards autonomy.
Supposedly, Jericho is the oldest continuously-inhabited city on Earth, with records dating back 11,000 years. Today it has 20,000 residents.
When you are in a new and strange place, your eyes may strain to focus on anything that can spark a feeling of familiarity. Pulling into Jericho's main square, my eyes almost fell out of their sockets. A Palestinian kid riding a bicycle towards us was wearing a navy blue shirt with the gold, script lettering of CAL on the front. In a second he was gone, like maybe I hadn't even seen it.
We circled the entire town center and appeared to be the only tourists. It was a pretty regular market day it seemed. Parts of pigs hanging from butcher shop windows, boxes of plastic toys lining curbs, falafel boiling in large pans of oil. We stopped to eat at what looked like the nicest restaurant in town, which meant slight air-conditioning and tables off the street. Our waiter was a young guy about my age who spoke a sprinkling of key English words and smiled a lot. Our food was plentiful and very cheap and we made sure to leave a good tip. When we were leaving, our new friend shook my hand and asked where we were from and then if I maybe knew 50 Cent Rapper. I told him yes and that next time I would see him in California. He laughed and smiled at us as we left and then returned to work.
My dad and I discussed what it takes for a guy like that to get to America. I suppose the best case scenario is he has a relative who has already made it and maybe can send money or a job opportunity back home, but you'd probably have to be one in a million to get hooked up like that. I think maybe if he worked hard enough at the biggest business in town or a hotel, maybe he could afford to travel, if he could get through the roadblocks, much less all the red tape. Learning English is a must.
After another half-hour game of see how long the Americans sit in the taxi before they realize its much hotter inside than out, we were heading to the city limits. An Israeli guard took our passports and peeked inside the car and we were off, speeding at 140 kilometers per hour back towards Jerusalem.
I think what I learned from my brief foray into the West Bank was not that the Palestinians were living in hovels or prisons, or that they were being forced by Israeli soldiers to walk in straight lines and speak only when spoken to, but rather that their oppression takes more abstract forms. When you see the upscale malls and bustling intersections of any big Israeli city it is hard to imagine anyone utilizing the land any better. However, the Palestinian land issue is not a matter of who would use the area more efficiently or who would keep it cleaner, it is a matter of basic freedom. When the Palestinians are forced to live behind a wall or a fence, its more visible impact is the destruction of economic opportunities for individuals and the community, but its less obvious result lies only within the minds of its people. By telling someone to move away from their home and live in a confined space, you are refusing them the ability even to imagine a life beyond borders. After spending the last 4 weeks traveling halfway across the world, seeing a larger array of cultures than I ever have in my life, I realized how much I take this for granted. It pains me to think that this waiter, no matter how hard he may work, will be tied to the ground by some faceless exterior force. I have enjoyed my stay in Israel immensely and by meeting people and seeing the country top to bottom, many of my political preconceptions have changed for the better, but as long as Israel remains an occupying nation, I have no choice but to see it as an oppressor, a barrier to some kid's simple dreams.
To get there, we hopped on a small bus at the bus station just outside the walls of Jerusalem's famous Old City. The signs inside this bus show the swooping script of Arabic words, not Hebrew's blocky characters, but that change doesn't really mean anything if you can't read either language. Only 15 minutes after leaving the city center, we had reached a Palestinian village that might be called a suburb. The streets are more clearly lined with trash here. On the side of the road, a dumpster's contents slowly burn. We are only here to transfer, but the driver of our service taxi is waiting to fill up with a few more passengers. Meanwhile, we sat in the car without air conditioning, while outside several men chain smoke their cigarettes in the shade, draped over plastic chairs. It is probably getting close to 100 degrees.
The city of Jericho is completely controlled by the Palestinian Authority. There is an Israeli military post about a mile outside the city's border, monitoring the road in and out. Other than that, however, the city's security and well-being are lead from within. Only a small percentage of the West Bank has this set-up, a step towards autonomy.
Supposedly, Jericho is the oldest continuously-inhabited city on Earth, with records dating back 11,000 years. Today it has 20,000 residents.When you are in a new and strange place, your eyes may strain to focus on anything that can spark a feeling of familiarity. Pulling into Jericho's main square, my eyes almost fell out of their sockets. A Palestinian kid riding a bicycle towards us was wearing a navy blue shirt with the gold, script lettering of CAL on the front. In a second he was gone, like maybe I hadn't even seen it.
We circled the entire town center and appeared to be the only tourists. It was a pretty regular market day it seemed. Parts of pigs hanging from butcher shop windows, boxes of plastic toys lining curbs, falafel boiling in large pans of oil. We stopped to eat at what looked like the nicest restaurant in town, which meant slight air-conditioning and tables off the street. Our waiter was a young guy about my age who spoke a sprinkling of key English words and smiled a lot. Our food was plentiful and very cheap and we made sure to leave a good tip. When we were leaving, our new friend shook my hand and asked where we were from and then if I maybe knew 50 Cent Rapper. I told him yes and that next time I would see him in California. He laughed and smiled at us as we left and then returned to work.
My dad and I discussed what it takes for a guy like that to get to America. I suppose the best case scenario is he has a relative who has already made it and maybe can send money or a job opportunity back home, but you'd probably have to be one in a million to get hooked up like that. I think maybe if he worked hard enough at the biggest business in town or a hotel, maybe he could afford to travel, if he could get through the roadblocks, much less all the red tape. Learning English is a must.
After another half-hour game of see how long the Americans sit in the taxi before they realize its much hotter inside than out, we were heading to the city limits. An Israeli guard took our passports and peeked inside the car and we were off, speeding at 140 kilometers per hour back towards Jerusalem.
I think what I learned from my brief foray into the West Bank was not that the Palestinians were living in hovels or prisons, or that they were being forced by Israeli soldiers to walk in straight lines and speak only when spoken to, but rather that their oppression takes more abstract forms. When you see the upscale malls and bustling intersections of any big Israeli city it is hard to imagine anyone utilizing the land any better. However, the Palestinian land issue is not a matter of who would use the area more efficiently or who would keep it cleaner, it is a matter of basic freedom. When the Palestinians are forced to live behind a wall or a fence, its more visible impact is the destruction of economic opportunities for individuals and the community, but its less obvious result lies only within the minds of its people. By telling someone to move away from their home and live in a confined space, you are refusing them the ability even to imagine a life beyond borders. After spending the last 4 weeks traveling halfway across the world, seeing a larger array of cultures than I ever have in my life, I realized how much I take this for granted. It pains me to think that this waiter, no matter how hard he may work, will be tied to the ground by some faceless exterior force. I have enjoyed my stay in Israel immensely and by meeting people and seeing the country top to bottom, many of my political preconceptions have changed for the better, but as long as Israel remains an occupying nation, I have no choice but to see it as an oppressor, a barrier to some kid's simple dreams.
1 comment:
You seem determined to validate you pre conceived notions of Israeli oppression of the Palestinian victim.
Why not do a comparative of the Jordanian and West Bank Palestinian and you discover that much of your attitude has been formed by repetitions in the Berkley press.
Stop thinking of the Palestinian as a peace yearning innocent victim of Israeli brutality. Think of him as a bad person who has been incarcerated in a prison because of his evil ways.
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