Day 136: The West Bank

When we were in Petra, we met a French girl, Julie, who was volunteering in Aida Camp (a Palestinian refugee camp butting up against the security wall that was built on the 1949 ‘Green Line’ between Israel and Palestine). Nearing the end of her three month stay working with teens filming a documentary about the camp, she invited us to the camp and offered to show us around. How could we refuse? Banksy art on the wall, a guided tour, and a better understanding of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict? Yes, please!

We called the day before and made plans to meet her late into the morning, giving us a little time beforehand to check out the Holocaust Museum on the Israeli side before catching the bus into Bethlehem. We made these plans without realizing how strange the day would end up feeling. We spent a little less than two hours at the museum. The majority of our time there was spent in the first few rooms of the museum reading nearly all of the information plaques trying to get a better grasp historically of how everything happened. Obviously I learned all of this at some point in school. Unfortunately, you just don’t soak it up the same way you do when you’re in the middle of Jerusalem about to cross into a modern day conflict zone. When my “half of our time is finished” alarm went off, we had more than 80% of the museum grounds to go through. We started walking faster through the exhibits. We may have gotten some weird looks. But in the back of my mind, I reminded myself that our couchsurfer mom said it was better to go for not enough time than not at all. She was right. It was a really informative (albeit very disturbing and sad) museum and helped remind/clarify so much history for me that I had forgotten or that had never really sunk in.

We met Julie at the bus station in Jerusalem (she was coming back from a hip hop concert the night before in Tel Aviv) only for Andrew to realize he had forgotten his passport. Fortunately, the bus stopped near our couchsurfer family’s house and we could jump off and catch the next one over the border. Julie met us at the InterContinental Hotel a stone’s throw from the security wall on the Bethlehem side and we walked around the hotel grounds to one of the main entrances of the camp.

Julie told us back in Petra that the camp is just like a regular city. Buildings housed families and were left with unfinished rooftops to expand up when children grew and married. A few small markets and take away restaurants were open on the ground level. Children roamed the streets. Some men sat in front of their doors. Murals of Mecca (announcing that the inhabitants had made a pilgrimage there) and street art donned most walls in the camp. When I think of a ‘camp’ I think of shoddy construction, tents, and poverty. This wasn’t so much the case. It felt like a lower income area of the city. Concrete buildings lined narrow streets and alleyways. Children had appropriate clothing, shoes, and called out to us often- mostly unafraid of our presence. Julie talked of the lack of electricity at times. There’s no warm water in the camp. And she’s taken cold showers, in the winter, for the past three months. What a trooper.

On our way to the wall, at times it was a little difficult to breathe (tear gas) and we could hear shots being fired. Julie said we picked a good day to come! We found out later that one of the children on the Palestinian side stole one of the security cameras from the wall.

When we got to the wall, she said taking pictures was ok, unless the boys started throwing rocks at us instead of the wall. Throwing rocks at the wall is a right of passage for the men. If you don’t do it, you’re seen as not being ‘man enough’ to be Palestinian. Luckily, the boys (and men in the distance) didn’t see us as a threat. When I bent down to photograph a can of tear gas (empty of course) one of the boys sprang towards me, grabbed the canister and insisted I take his picture. That’s part of the security wall behind him. We weren’t sure who the men in that particular mural are though.

We went to the volunteer center where Julie works. I took a photo just to remember the website address for The Al-rowwad Cultural and Theater Society. 

It wasn’t until we were walking through the smaller refugee camp across the main street from Aida that it hit me how strange the current situation is. In the morning, I was walking through exhibits all about the work-then concentration-then death camps that Jews were placed into decades ago in Europe. Today, I was walking through a modern day refugee camp that the Palestinians have been forced into by Israel. Obviously there is a lot to comprehend, and I don’t know enough, nor do I have the emotional ties to the situation as both Isralis and Palestinians do. But it felt strange, and my idealistic self just wanted everyone to get along and both sides to have access to constant electricity and hot water.

Before we knew it, we were walking through the Old City in Bethlehem to visit the Church of the Nativity, where it is believed to be built over the cave where Jesus was born. The rebuilt church is a little barren and it feels cold. It didn’t help that there was a mass of pushy pilgrims waiting to get down below the altar to touch the stone marker of his birth. What’s wrong with an orderly line in a church? In one of the holiest of holy sites (for Christians), do you really need to cut in front of others?

The site is this tiny room under the altar with a half circle of stairs leading down into it. You know that feeling when you’re waiting to get into a concert and the doors open and there’s a mad rush to get in first to claim your spot closest to the stage? That’s what it felt like. Only there was absolutely no need for the rush, because the stone wasn’t going anywhere! It was without a doubt, the most annoying religious visit we’ve had in and around Jerusalem. The more modern church that was built off to the side of the nativity site was pretty and quiet, but I felt the attendants frustration as he shushed other pilgrims talking too loud and not taking care of the door slamming.

After the Church of the Nativity, we made our way out of Bethlehem and then out of Jerusalem to Haifa, where we were once again faced with the fact that Israel is not a country geared towards backpackers on a budget.

Day 133: The Old City in Jerusalem

The Old City is where religions collide or live harmoniously, depending on how you view your glass… Within its walls are The Wailing Wall (also known as The Western Wall) and The Temple Mount for the Jews. Just on the other side of the wall lies The Dome of the Rock and Al-Aqsa Mosque for the Muslims. On the other side of the Old City, a mere ten minute walk (if you know where you’re going and you’re not like us passing it up by accident more than once) is the Church of the Holy Sepulchre for the Christians. It was a long, religious filled day. After spending two months surrounded by Buddhism in S.E. Asia and then two months surrounded by Hinduism in Nepal and India… one day of three different religions was a lot to wrap my head around. It was overwhelming and spiritual at The Western Wall, calming outside of the Dome of the Rock, and familiar inside the Christian Basilica.

We headed to The Western Wall first. It’s the holiest site (right after the Temple Mount) in the Jewish religion as it’s the only remaining wall that surrounded the Jewish Temple’s courtyard. From my understanding, the Jewish Temple and the Temple Mount itself is so important because, according to Judaism, it’s where Adam was created among many other significant events recorded in the Bible. The first temple was built by Solomon (son of David) and then destroyed by the Babylonians. The second temple was built by Zerubbabel and then destroyed by the Romans. It was sometime at the end of this ‘Second Temple era’ that it’s believed the current walls were built by Herod the Great. (I think.) According to  (Jewish) TRADITION! (sing it Mom, I did that for you) it’s believed the third and final temple will be built here.

When we arrived at the Wall, Andrew and I stood behind a high dividing wall set up in the middle of the square dividing it into a large section for men and a smaller section off to the right for women. I stood and watched the men for awhile performing lots of Bar Mitzvahs with a few older men praying against the wall. It was full of life. There was singing and dancing and younger boys-turning into men were hoisted on fathers shoulders and led back to their awaiting families, with women on the other side of the wall watching all of the activity.

Obviously I could not go into the men’s side, so when I spied the entrance of the women’s side, I marched right in. There was no singing and dancing and cause for celebration. Instead, I was faced with the reality of the wall’s nickname; The Wailing Wall. Women anxiously pushed (but not in a rude way, just in an urgent I need to pray real bad kinda way) their way towards the wall to reach out and stuff a prayer written down into a crevice or lean up against it as they whispered their prayers into the stones before them.

Some women stood a few rows away from the wall with open prayer books and Bibles (I think, I’m assuming, they were Bibles) crying and praying. Some silently. Some out loud. It was powerful. I haven’t been so surrounded by such fierce prayer since… since… I don’t know when. For someone who hasn’t exactly been practicing, I was surprised by how much it took my breath away. There was a certain charge to the air. I’m sure it was the general energy of all of the women there, but I have to think it was more than just their (our) energy alone. As I walked out a mother and daughter walked backwards out of the designated women’s side to the open square, like they couldn’t turn their back on the Wall. It made me smile as I followed, facing them as we walked out at the same time.

Ok, so what’s confusing to me is that even though the Wall is technically a part of Temple Mount, Jews aren’t even allowed on Temple Mount itself because according to the Torah, it is forbidden due to it’s sacredness. I feel I need to take a course on Judaism and Islam in addition to Buddhism and Hinduism. Can one study all of this out of curiosity? If only…

Fortunately, visitors like myself are allowed to cross over The Western Wall into the designated Temple Mount area. This area is also the site of the Dome of the Rock and Al-Aqsa Mosque. Although it’s under Muslim control, The Rock (which resides in Dome of the Rock), according to Jewish TRADITION! is where Heaven and Earth meet. The (Sunni) Muslims regard Temple Mount as the third holiest site in Islam. It is the ‘Noble Sanctuary’ where Muhammad ascended into heaven. The Dome itself is one of the oldest Islamic structures in the world. This ownership dispute between the Jews and Muslims is at the top of the Arab-Israeli conflict.

So just like that, we were out of intense Jewish TRADITION! and in the middle of a calm Muslim garden and pavilion outside of Dome of the Rock. Not allowed inside the Dome of the Rock, Andrew and I sat in the sun until we were kicked out for prayer time.

Moving onto the third religion of the day, we walked through the Old City to the Christian Quarter. I have to admit, walking through the narrow streets and up the stairs past different Stations of the Cross- like where it was ACTUALLY a Station of the Cross (not just a plaque on a church wall), I felt a wave of “Oh Jesus was a real person?” wash over me. When you grow up in the Catholic Church taught to believe in God, it can feel a bit forced and in a way, mythical at times. Or maybe I’m just a bad Catholic… I mean, obviously, I’m a bad Catholic. A few people I went to high-school with probably already have made a list of reasons to back up this claim.

But being in the Old City in Jerusalem and walking past these clearly marked Stations towards the Church of the Holy Sepulchre makes being a Catholic and the plight of Jesus a bit more real. I’ve gone to a Catholic school my whole life, and I’ve never heard that the Hill of Calvary (where Jesus was crucified) is currently an altar that looks like a mini church built inside the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. It makes everything more believable. 

Furthermore, the Sepulchre (tomb) is right at the entrance of the church under a line of candles and more often than not, kneeling pilgrims kissing the rock itself that Jesus is believed to be buried underneath. It is also believed that he will be resurrected at this very spot as well. Today, the Church is shared between Eastern Orthodoxy, Oriental Orthodoxy and Roman Catholics. A Muslim family holds the keys to the Church itself to avoid conflict between the different Christian sects.

Worn out by religion, we headed over to the swanky hotel our couchsurfer host, Meidad was working and told us to meet him. He was full of enthusiasm when he met us and called us out on looking worn out. I think he thought it was from the four and a half months of travel, even though it was more from the day making sense of three different religions and one history. He poured us a much needed glass of wine, directed us to the rooftop restaurant for some warm bread and a beautiful view of the city, and then took us home with him at the end of his shift.