West Bank & East Jerusalem
Letter #40: A couple more family trips and then I say my goodbyes...
6/13/23
Here I go again, complaining that I’m falling behind on my writing. Weeks have passed and I’m only now sitting down to write about the family trip to the West Bank and East Jerusalem. I just haven’t had time to prioritize writing. I’ve realized two things about my habits in the last 5 months—it is much easier to both diet and journal when I am solo. I’m too heavily influenced by enjoying my time with loved ones to be disciplined with either habit, and have only been successful when I’ve been alone. That doesn’t mean I only want to be alone—I definitely am happier when I’m with my friends and family—it just means I have this new revelation about myself and what I need in order to achieve my goals. Solitude. 🤣 The fact that I am not “working” in the traditional sense and still have trouble achieving these goals is what makes me terrified about going back into the workforce. But we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. 😬
On the last Saturday of my visit in Palestine, May 20th, we planned a family outing to Hebron in the West Bank. The fam prefers to do their shopping there (specifically for clothing, household goods, and veggies 🤤), for obvious reasons. Spending their money in the West Bank makes sure their hard-earned funds are supporting Palestinian businesses. I was excited because I hadn’t been to the West Bank yet—the main designated Palestinian territory. The checkpoint at the south of the West Bank isn’t far from Laqiya, maybe only a 25 minute drive. Even with our Israeli license plate, we easily passed into the West Bank. It would be upon our return into Israel that we may face some questioning—everyone was sure to pack their passports or IDs.
Even within this designated Palestinian territory, the fam pointed out where more and more Israeli settlements were cropping up. Which shouldn’t be problematic if everyone could live peacefully side by side, right? But it is a problem because the Palestinians have been forced off their homeland, into these designated territories, and are now being pushed further and further out. I asked why—when tensions are so high—would Israelis want to settle in the West Bank?! Why not stay within Israel? Well, land is cheaper in the West Bank. Sounds a lot like what happens over in the US, doesn’t it? Gentrification of the lower socio-economic neighborhoods in major cities, or of smaller rural towns that are struggling to survive. Even I, knowingly, have contributed to gentrification in neighborhoods in Brooklyn. It feels wrong, and yet I can’t afford the sky-high prices of Manhattan so I justify it to myself and move into a building where the rent gets jacked up, potentially pushing out the families that have lived there for 30 years at a fixed rent. But some of those families may not be afforded the same career opportunities as I am, so how can they keep up? The lower socio-economic classes get squeezed out, and the face of the neighborhood changes. If it sounds like I’m leaving out some major descriptive words, I am. I’m down to discuss this more in depth, in person, but for now I’m keeping this revelation surface level.
And so we see this gentrification happening in the West Bank, although tensions are MUCH higher. The Israeli flag flies defiantly in the face of so many Palestinians who are otherwise never allowed to raise their own flag within Israel—it is against the law.
We drove into Hebron, a city bustling with traffic, outdoor marketplaces, and tons of people doing their Saturday shopping.
Side bar: since Shabbat begins on Friday, Friday is Israel’s Saturday. And Saturday is Israel’s Sunday. Which means everyone goes back to work on actual Sunday. And Thursday feels like Friday. It took me like 3 weeks to get used to this. Many Islamic countries also share this same schedule—Friday and Saturday = the weekend.
We parked the car and headed towards the outdoor market. Let me tell you—the people here are BEAUTIFUL. Many with olive skin, light brown hair, and light green eyes. It’s a combo I am not used to seeing regularly so I was fascinated just to people watch in the streets.
We walked through the market a ways, the shops filled with anything you could imagine needing to house and clothe yourself. After a while the market quieted down and the street became bare. Shop doors were closed up and we saw fewer and fewer people. It felt like a ghost town in the middle of this busy city. Uncle Tawfik explained that we were entering the settlement area, so the shops were forced (by the IDF) to close down due to mounting violence and unrest. Wire fencing stretched above our heads, protecting the market below from the settlers throwing garbage from their apartment windows. We wandered the area for a bit, discussing the history, when we happened upon a Palestinian resident that offered to give us a tour of the area. He lives right next door to the settlement, his family experiencing constant harassment. Across the alleyway stood a tall fence with barbed wire, caging out the settlement area, the ground filled with trash. My skin was crawling with discomfort from the entire situation. I can’t imagine trying to raise my family here, in a place that seems will never find peace. Shadi Sidr told us the story of his daughters playing in the alleyway below, when a settler called the IDF, claiming the girls had a knife. The IDF soldiers arrived and took the traumatized 12 year old girl away for questioning. I could just sense his heartache over the constant pain and suffering that takes place in this stolen land.
We headed back out of the market, over to the mall where we went into a shop selling traditional thobes—Tawfik & Wafaa wanted to treat me to my own thobe! ❤️ I was so excited to look through all the beautiful designs and choose my own. There are tons of different silhouettes, but I knew I wanted one that was cut more like a robe that I could wear over leggings and a tunic. I knew I would wear something like that much more frequently than a full dress. I chose a black and gold combo with fringe at the bottom—and will share more photos once I actually style it and wear it out!
We perused some other dress and gown shops for the cousins in the group, stopping by one of the many gummy candy stalls so I could get my fix. (I’m OBSESSED with all the gummy candy here!)
Later, we grabbed lunch at a nice seafood restaurant, then headed back to Laqiya. Again, I faced questioning at the checkpoint—why would I possibly be with Arab “family”? The IDF solider studied my passport for a while, pondering up more questions to ask me, until he finally sent us on our way.
We were exhausted from the day, being out in the city, that I was grateful we had decided to postpone our trip to Jerusalem. Jerusalem Day had just occurred from the evening of May 18th-May 19th, with many settlers performing the flag march through the Palestinian side of the old city, East Jerusalem, shouting “death to Arabs”, “death to Mohammed”, and “may your village burn”. Needless to say, it would not be a safe time for the family to visit.
Jerusalem Day came just a couple weeks after we were under a “light” lockdown in Laqiya, following 5 days of Israeli air strikes in the Gaza Strip. When I woke up on the morning of May 8th, Yasmin informed me that we would not be heading to her school that morning, as we were ordered to stay indoors, near the in-home bomb shelters, as Israel was expecting a retaliation from Gaza. The army claimed to be targeting Jihadist leaders, but the result of the exchange of fire over five days led to 33 Palestinian deaths (including 6 children) and 1 Israeli death. While I was alarmed at first that we could be within firing range if the Gaza Strip should retaliate, I was reminded of how few resources Gaza has—even their rockets cannot compete with the deadly airstrikes from the Israeli army. It was strange to be within the state of Israel (safe from the air strikes in Gaza), but angry about those very air strikes, disheartened by the mounting Palestinian deaths, and a little fearful of rocket retaliation from Gaza. For a few years I had already been feeling guilty about watching movies depicting heroic American soldiers gunning down terrorists in the Middle East. And now that guilt is solidified, my heart breaking at how wrong “we” get it sometimes, and recognizing how dangerous it is for blockbuster films to depict one entire race or group of people as “terrorists”. And in the days of Operation Shield and Arrow, I could see how disproportionately the violence occurs in this area.
I digress. Kathy and I decided to head to East Jerusalem on Monday where (and, again, I am embarrassed to admit this) we knew we were unlikely to face any harassment due to our nationality and the color of our skin. We left the house early, around 7am, to beat the workday traffic into Tel Aviv. We parked our car near the Damascus Gate in the Eastern part of Jerusalem and entered into the old city. After the Arab-Israeli War in 1948, “Jerusalem was divided into two parts: the western portion, from which it is estimated 30,000 Arabs had fled or been evicted, came under Israeli rule, while East Jerusalem came under Jordanian rule and was populated mainly by Palestinian Muslims and Christians.” This was my second time walking through the Damascus Gate and I was awed entering this ancient place again. Old Palestinian women sat along the cobble stone streets, flattening, organizing, and selling grape leaves from their land (something I had just helped Yusra & Nami with the other day). Immediately upon entering the gate, you can smell the freshly baked Ka’ek Al-Quds—oval rings of bread topped with sesame seeds, almost like a huge, oblong bagel. Kathy and I decided to buy one with a side of Za’atar. We walked through the streets ripping off pieces of the ka’ek al-quds and dipping it into our little paper filled with za’atar. The combination was amazing, and it brought back memories of being here with Hilary the first time.
Many of the shops were still closed as it was early in the day. We walked through the Palestinian part of the old city, making our way past the Western Wall to the entrance for the Dome of the Rock (Al-Aqsa Mosque). We passed through a security check, and the police officer reminded us that we are not to pray at the mosque—as we are not Muslims. I asked Kathy the reasoning behind the strict instructions not to pray in this holy place, and she explained that, when individuals of certain other religions pray in a holy place, they may feel called to claim that place as their own. By instructing non-Muslims not to pray at Al-Aqsa Mosque, this place can be protected from being overtaken by another religion. I remember feeling, back in 2018 when I first visited, that Jerusalem was a hot-bed for violence. Instead of the place feeling peaceful and calm, there is tension in the air. There are at least three religions (Judaism, Islam, and Christianity) vying to take over the city—or simply hold the areas they already claim. The politics and history of violence in the city ruins the spirituality for me. But, once we got to the Dome of the Rock, I could sense the calm again. It wasn’t crowded, and birds flew over the expanse of cobblestone walks surrounding the mosque. Kathy and I couldn’t enter the mosque, but we admired the elaborate tiles and the quiet of the site from the outside. It’s great touring this place with her, because she can whip up a conversation in both Arabic and Hebrew, often surprising the security guards or shop owners that she has questions for.
We walked back towards the old city and its markets, stopping for a fresh-squeezed juice and to enjoy more of our ka’ek al quds. Of course I spied another gummy candy vendor, so I stopped to fill up on another bag of sweets. We walked past market stalls, looking for not much in particular, except that Kathy wanted to visit the traditional Palestinian ceramics vendor that sells goods made in Hebron—our family has been buying tiles and dishes from him for years. He sent us around the corner to another shop where his son sold most of the goods. I bought a gift for myself and my dear bud, Nicholas, and Kathy got some dishes for her home. After that we wandered down a street we hadn’t visited before in search of some antique jewelry (no, I didn’t end up buying any 😆). We stumbled upon this little cavernous coffee shop with jazz playing quietly in the background. The shop was filled with vintage rugs and textiles, antique chairs, jewelry, books, and trinkets. Kathy and I were fascinated with the shop owner’s collection, so we decided to stay for a drink. We cozied in and enjoyed our drinks, later striking up a conversation with the shop owner. He shared about the images of many notable people that have come through his store, how he sells goods that are handmade in the Gaza Strip in order to support the people living under an oppressive rule, and the struggles he’s experienced in keeping his shop open in East Jerusalem—another place under constant threat of being thrown out by settlers. Not surprisingly so, he had to have his shop closed on Jerusalem Day.
After exiting through the Damascus Gate, Kathy and I decided to head in the Sheikh Jarrah neighborhood in East Jerusalem. I remember seeing this neighborhood pop up in the media from time to time in the US—many Palestinians were losing their homes to settlers. We walked through the streets, noting how the area had been changing, when we saw the actual Jacob from Brooklyn (well, he’s actually from Long Island) emerging from the home he stole from Palestinian resident, Mona el-Kurd. The yard was trashed, and across the alley we could see a mural of the Palestinian American journalist, Shireen Abu Akleh. “On 11 May 2022, while covering a raid by the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) on the Jenin Refugee camp in the West Bank, Abu Akleh, who was wearing a blue vest with "PRESS" written on it, was shot and killed.”
The whole scene—Jacob from Brooklyn (nee Long Island), the mural of Shireen Abu Akleh facing his new “home”—was a lot to take in. It’s hard not to feel angry.
We began walking back towards the old city when I looked into the peephole of a gate of a Palestinian home. The family had a beautiful, expansive garden. At the same moment, the homeowners were unloading bags from their car and asked if we’d like to come see the garden. The woman invited us in, and shared with us a little history of their home. Their Sheikh Jarrah home was owned by her parents, who had since passed away. She had lived many years in a village further away with her husband and his family. Now they split their time, spending half of it at the home in Sheikh Jarrah to be sure they can protect it from the encroaching settlements. She was such a kind soul, Kathy and I would’ve loved to spend more time talking with her, but she had an appointment and we were getting hungry. Kathy and I headed out to the Jerusalem Hotel for lunch. She and Ismael have stayed at this stunning hotel before, its rooms and architecture just dripping with the decor and history of times past. She knew their family-run cafe had great food, so we settled in for our final Auntie-Niece meal—I’d be leaving the next day, Tuesday May 23rd. We ordered vegan kubbeh, a fattoush salad (my FAVE), a chicken stew, and lamb kebabs. We ate until our hearts’ content, expressing how wonderful our time had been together, and that we will be sad for it to end.
We headed back to the car, and began our 2 hour ride home, where I had several pages of interview questions lined up to ask Kathy—I have learned A LOT about this family. ❤️ When we got home, Yasmin and Wafaa whipped up a final family dinner of Shakshukka, roasted potatoes, and rolls, and we ate one last communal dinner together, standing up around the table, diving into the Shakshukka with hunks of bread. Yusra brought out homemade sweets, claiming “we welcomed you with sweets, and we will send you off with sweets.”
The following afternoon, I was met by 14 people of the family, coming to say goodbye to me before I left for the airport. I was overwhelmed by the amount of love I received, and heartfelt requests that I return as soon as I can—I promised to come back the following year with my mom in tow (Kathy’s sister). I had grown to love this family so genuinely—I felt so accepted, so well taken care of, and everyone expressed such interest in me and my life. I was especially teary-eyed saying goodbye to Kathy, Ismael, and Yasmin. They had become like a second home for me, had become very good friends of mine, and I was sad to leave them.
Just as I had arrived, Tawfik, Tishreen, Melek, and Yasmin drove me to the airport. I requested that Tishreen DJ for us, as she had for both our trips to Jordan and the West Bank. We gave our hugs and goodbyes at the airport, and I headed to my gate—I was on my way to the Albanian Riviera and the Albanian Alps.
Hey! Would you like to connect over creativity, self-growth, and problem-solving? Or just to have a virtual glass of wine or mocktail? Please book a time on my Calendly for us to chat! I can’t wait to see you. XOXO.
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Love you, and miss you so much. Come back, Hank, whenever you can. You’ll always have many homes here 💔💜💙❤️💚❣️