A culture of giving

A rather wordy blog post by Adam.

We needed to get home from the Zona Colonial and we vaguely knew the way. Our host mother told us to catch a bus to the University and from there we could find a bus home. How hard could it be?

After a few false starts we found a bus driver who confirmed that his route passed the University. We hopped on and hoped for the best. Shortly after we sat down a middle age man holding a stack of books and a bag of fruit stumbled onto the bus and sat next to Melissa and me.  I commented about his large Dominican history book, and that was all he needed to jump full force into conversation. 

After chatting a bit about his books, he pulled out a large greenish, beat-up fruit from his bag, and asked, "Do you know what this is?" We had no idea. Was it an unknown fruit? Or was it a fruit so manhandled that its distinctive traits were indiscernible?  As it turns out, it was a guanabana. We had heard of it. We had even drunk a Guanabana smoothie the last time we were in the Dominican Republic. This, however, was our first meeting in the flesh.

Our new friend proceeded to tell us how to turn it from green blob into a delectable white drink. You ripped the skin of with your bare hands, then used your fingers to pull the black seeds from the white pulp.  When the seeds were gone, you threw what was left in a blender, added some yogurt, milk and/or water, blended and drank. After his detailed explanation, he handed us the fruit, and told us to try it out at home.  We were speechless. We didn't know what to do. The woman sitting next to him nodded, "If he's offering you the fruit you should take it.  Don't worry, he wants you to have it."  We thanked him and the discussion proceeded with a rant against Neoliberalism and an additional gift of four mangoes.  

We were so engrossed in conversation and gift receiving, that we had lost track of the bus's route.  We turned to our companion and asked him where we were. Honduras. We were pretty sure we had not yet reached Central America, but we were also pretty sure Honduras was nowhere near the University.  We asked.  The University?  We passed that miles ago exclaimed several people on the bus. The bus screeched to halt, we grabbed our fruit and hurriedly jumped off, not even taking the time to thank our friend for the gifts.

From here we caught a public car (a shared car with a specific route) to the subway station, took the subway several stops and changed lines, came out of the subway, caught another public car, walked 10 minutes and made it home.

It was time to make a guanabana shake.  I quickly got to work, ripping off the skin and removing the seeds from the very slimy interior...

Removing guanabana seeds with belly protruding.  Is this a sign of stomach aches to come?

Removing seeds (from a different angle).  Why is my belly still sticking out?

I then threw the pulp in the blender with some yogurt, milk, and water and started blending. Problem was I wasn't so good at getting all of the seeds out. As the blender revved, a few seeds came to the top, but it felt like one escaped my grasp and had become part of the shake.  Melissa quickly ran to the internet to find numerous articles of dubious origin stating that the seeds were toxic.  She wasn't going to touch the stuff.  I myself wasn't so fearful of the seeds, but the finished product didn't seem right.  It was so thick and lumpy. I blended it some more and then gave up.  I had worked long enough and it was time to drink...

Gulping guanabana.

Problem was, with Melissa out of the drinking picture, and our host mother nowhere to be seen, I had a lot of thick guanabana beverage on my hands.  I couldn't waste it, so instead I gulped down about five glasses.  I couldn't force myself to drink a final sixth glass.  I saved that for breakfast the next morning.

Sure, in the end the drink was so thick, I actually had to used a spoon for the final two glasses.  And yes, it did give me a bit of a stomach ache and a lot of gas.  But mostly I was just blown away by how a stranger we met on the bus - a man who loved the Dominican Republic, but only had enough money to visit every so many years - had given us his only guanabana and half of his mangoes.  People had been incredibly generous to us in Israel, but this felt over the top. It was incredible.

And yet, it isn't the only generosity we've experienced in our short time here in the Dominican Republic. At Shabbat services we got invited to someone's house for dinner (we had already eaten dinner, but we graciously accepted the invitation, and somehow managed to put down a second dinner).  And our host mother prepares extra food at each meal for the old man who lives downstairs and has no family and a limited income.  I was impressed the first time I saw her bring him breakfast.  Now that I've seen her take him food daily I'm overwhelmed by her generosity.  We've learned much on our trip and had many inspiring experiences, but few things are more impressive than the generosity of every day Dominicans and the guanabana it brings.

Age and education

A blog post by Adam. While waiting in line at the Baha'i Gardens in Haifa (Israel), Melissa and I briefly talked to a retired U.S. engineering professor who was spending a few weeks at Haifa's Technion University reviewing the undergraduate curriculum.  The greatest difference between the U.S. and the Technion? Not so much the curriculum, but rather the students - the students at the Technion were several years older than American undergrads. Due to military service and traveling, the average student began university between 20 and 23 years old.  These few years and the experiences that accompanied them meant a much more mature student body.

This is proof that we did indeed visit the Baha'i Gardens. It is pretty much irrelevant to this post.

Fast forward a couple weeks and I find myself interviewing a 19-year-old recent university graduate in Santo Domingo. She had completed high school by age 16, and university only a few years later. The young woman was intelligent and given her challenging upbringing, mature beyond her years. Still, she seemed young, and I wondered how her lack of years impacted her.

After sharing her story with our host mother, we learned that Dominicans didn't usually graduate at such a young age.  Her age was a sign of her hard work, but it seems to also be a reflection of the poor educational system in the Dominican Republic.  With 36% of Dominican children not completing 8th grade, and the highest teen pregnancy rate in the Americas, the educational levels in the DR are low to begin with. But even those who do complete school may get a subpar education.  This was our host mother's explanation - sure the young woman was smart but she also went to mediocre schools where early graduation was possible. How different the system was from Israel or even the United States. This surely would be one of many reminders of the wealth and education disparities between the DR and so many other places in the world.

A cave with a pool, a beach with warm water

A blog post by Adam.  Have you ever swam in a cave? In fresh water? I had not. Until today...

A short flat one kilometer hike through a cactus forest and other interesting plants and rocks, brought us here:

A cave...

 with water and...

 bats.

After a quick hike back to the car, we headed to the nearby beach, where we took a dip in the Caribbean.... 

A perfect first day off in the Dominican Republic.

If you refused to visit countries with problems, where would you go?

A blog post by Adam. As we sat with a group of Haitian Dominicans in Guaymate, the words of an Israeli we had shared lunch with just one week prior suddenly came back to me. We were discussing our hesitancy to visit Israel given its long list of human rights abuses. The man, a Scottish Israeli who had helped save thousands of Ethiopian Jews, acknowledged Israel's problems but also asked how many other countries we had decided not to visit because of human rights abuses. Aside from my Hawaii and Safeco Field boycotts it was hard to come up with many other places on the no fly (and land) list. Still, who compared to Israel in the human rights abuse column? Sudan? North Korea? Maybe China? We weren't planning to visit those countries....

We are now in the Dominican Republic and what we learned on just our second day here is that human rights catastrophes know no borders. The four twentysomething Haitian Dominicans Melissa and I met work for the grassroots non-governmental organization 180 Degrees (http://www.180grados.info/). They were all born in the Dominican Republic and have lived here their entire lives. And while they all had official Dominican identification cards, the State has refused to renew their IDs since 2007 because of their Haitian roots. Without valid identification they are essentially stateless people, who can't go to high school or university, can't marry, can't open a bank account, and can't get legal work. There are tens of thousands of previously documented young people across the DR today who face this predicament. Amazingly, all four of the people we met were hopeful that the government's policy would change in the near future. Of course there were likely hundreds of thousands more Haitian Dominicans who have never had official identification, that may never be eligible for the simple ID cards that have so much power over one's life opportunities. It was a quick and harsh welcome to our new temporary home.

Landing in the DR

A blog post by Adam. Tel Aviv. Toronto. Newark. Punta Cana. La Romana. 3 flights. 30+ hours of travel, including 5 hours at Newark's America's Best Value Inn. One momentarily lost passport. And we arrived in the Dominican Republic. Very tired.

Melissa trying different sleeping positions in the Toronto airport.

Leaving Israel with sadness and hope

A blog post by Adam.  Today we left Israel. It was an amazing month. We saw so much and learned so much more. I leave with much sadness for Israel as it struggles to be the just Jewish homeland I yearn for. I also leave with much love for the people we met along the way.

Jewish Israelis, Bedouin Israelis, and Palestinians were all so incredible to us. So many people invited us into their homes, communities, and campsites. So many people fed us. So many people from various political persuasions talked to us and listened to us. 

The names are endless...Sheila on Yom Ha'atsmaut. Moran, Shachar, and Yam at the Dead Sea. Anat at Ein Bokek. Mina and Trevor in the Galilee. Rafi and Gabriel along the Sea to Sea hike. Zoughbi, Linda, and Nasser in Bethlehem. Rabbi Arik and the Bedouin residents of al-Arakib. Norm and Faggie in Jerusalem. Micha and the Ethiopians we visited with him. Roni and Ovadia on the Gaza border. Irit, Tzvika, and Shelley in Tel Aviv. 

Some of these people we knew before. Others we met along the way. All of them were so kind and warm to us. And though we weren't fighting with each over land, or equal rights, or religious practices, I have hope that if people who don't really know us can be so kind, then there must be a way for them to be kind to one another. I don't know how this will happen, but I know that despite all my sadness I also have hope for a better future.

Shabbat like it should be

A blog post by Adam. Following our moshav tours and immigrant discussions, the day was coming to a close and Shabbat was about to begin. We had been in Israel for three Shabbats, and had done little to acknowledge the most important Jewish holiday.

On our first Shabbat we went to a huge buffet at the Masada guest house, and saw several Orthodox families say the blessings but we did not participate. For our second Shabbat we were with my cousins and there was no mention of Shabbat except that the stores were closed. Our third Shabbat was at an overpriced Haifa hostel where we may have been the only Jews. We spent the day at the Baha'i Gardens with a Spanish man - not exactly the most Jewish experience.

And now we were with Roni and Ovadia. Completely Jewish and also completely secular. Their daughter who lived on the moshav had invited us over for dinner. We joined their daughter, her husband and three children, as well as three of their nephews and nieces who were staying for the weekend, for dinner. There were no prayers, but the house was alive with the laughter of children and conversation of adults. We feasted and enjoyed one another's company. We returned to Roni and Ovadia's home for more conversation, before retiring to bed.

The following morning we woke up late and had a large leisurely breakfast. We then walked just a few houses down to a pool, where we found Roni's daughter and son and their families as well as some neighbors and the nephews and nieces we had met the night before (Roni and Ovadia have five children, three of whom love on the moshav). The kids were running in and out of the pool, while the adults took turns supervising and chatting in the shade near the pool.  The children and grandchildren all seemed to be best friends. It was as if we had walked into an Israeli Norman Rockwell painting. 

We eventually returned to the house for naps, and a leisurely afternoon of reading and more conversation. We then had a large and delicious lunch, and shortly thereafter left the moshav as Shabbat was about to conclude. It had been a wonderful 24 hours full of family, and food, and rest. Roni said it was like this every weekend. And with three of her children and 9 of her grandchildren living on the small moshav, she said she saw family on an almost daily basis even during the week. For a short period we forgot about all of Israel's problems, and just enjoyed our time with our incredible Israeli hosts. We could see why they loved living here despite the barrage of missiles.  We will leave Israel with images of hardship, but also with an image of what Shabbat might be like...a time for family and human connection; a time to focus on what matters most in life.

Dialogue and Foreign Labor

A blog post by Adam. Our last Shabbat in Israel was spent with Roni and Ovadia Keidar, who live on a moshav on the border of Gaza. We met Roni when she visited Seattle as a guest of the Jewish Federation, just before our trip began. When we told her we would be visiting Israel she invited us to come and stay with her. How could we refuse the offer?

Roni is originally from England, though she made aliyah to Israel as a child and Ovadia was born in Egypt - a Jew whose first language is Arabic. Ovadia is a farmer who specializes in desert farming (more about this later). In the 70s they helped establish a moshav (farming village) in the Sinai Peninsula.  When the Peninsula was traded for peace with Egypt, they decided to re-establish their moshav within Israel's internationally recognized borders, but as close to the border as possible. The moshav is therefore located directly on the Gaza border. And on the border it is. The edge of the moshav is primarily a fence between Gaza and Israel, except near the residential area where the Israeli government has constructed a high wall for protection from snipers.

Given their proximity to Gaza, Roni and Ovadia have experienced their share of missiles. Two people have died on the moshav - a young woman and a Thai farmworker who was working in the moshav's fields. During the last missile barrage in November, Roni and Ovadia had the option to leave but Ovadia refused because he wasn't willing to abandon the Thai workers who work his fields and had nowhere else to go.

Due to the endless violence, Roni is committed to working for peace. She said that there is no other option. The violence is clearly not working for either side. For several years she has participated in Other Voice (http://www.othervoice.org/welcome-eng.htm), an organization that promotes dialogue between people in Gaza and the surrounding Israeli communities. This is exactly what I had hoped for when meeting with Nasser in Bethlehem. Real dialogue between Israelis and Palestinians. How incredible that this was happening on the Gaza border, where tensions appear to be so much higher than between Israel and the West Bank.

Over the years, Other Voice has hosted several exchanges in Israel (neither Hamas nor Israel will allow Israelis into Gaza), although unfortunately these exchanges come with risks.  At their last retreat two years ago, one of the Palestinian participants openly shared his views (and his identity) with the Israeli media. Hamas detained him after returning to Gaza and he had to escape for his life to Egypt. He is now living in Morocco. A harsh punishment for discussing peace with Israelis. Since this time, Other Voice has suspended in-person meetings and now they meet via phone. Roni said her encounters with Palestinians give her hope, while she feels sick every time the bombing commences between Israel and Gaza. She is afraid, but at least she has a bomb shelter. Her friends in Gaza don't even have the security of bomb shelters.

Roni shared these stories and thoughts as we toured the moshav, viewing the security walls and fences. We stopped at a mural created by a moshav resident on one of the walls that says "path to peace." For the first time in many days we felt genuine hope.

We then toured Ovadia's greenhouses. Like many desert farmers, Ovadia grows his crops in sand, with an advanced drip irrigation system that provides the plants the perfect combination of water and nutrients directly into their roots. Ovadia can change the quantities of water and nutrients throughout the growing cycle depending on the plants' needs.

Ovadia shows Melissa part of pepper growing in the sandy Israeli soil.

Ovadia produces pepper, tomato amd melon seeds, a tedious a labor intensive process. Each flower must be hand pollinated to ensure the highest quality of seed production. This process requires that a worker first sterilize each flower and then return to pollinate each flower by hand. Workers tag the flowers as they complete this process and any flower that is discovered without a tag is discarded. Workers work all day and into the night for weeks on end to complete the process.

Thai workers sterilizing tomato flowers.
The colored tags hanging from the plant show each flower that has already been sterilized.

The farmworkers are almost all from Thailand.  The Israeli government allows a very limited number of foreign workers into the country, and each farmer must apply for a specific number of work permits. Ovadia has been granted 5 foreign work permits, and he lamented that if only he had more permits, he could produce more seeds.  In the past, there was never a need for foreign labor because many people came from Gaza to work in Israeli fields. Those days disappeared years ago.

Back at Roni and Ovadia's house, we recounted what we had seen and the conversation slowly transitioned to Roni's aging aunt and uncle who needed help at home. Roni was in the process of helping them find in-home help - a "Filipina". Similar to Ovadia's story of hiring Thai workers, Roni explained how Israelis could apply for a work permit for a "Filipina" to serve as a live-in home care aid. It was a lengthy process that included a medical evaluation of the older adult and negotiations with a placement agency. In the Philippines workers paid thousands of dollars to qualify for a permit that would tie them to a specific Israeli older adult.  If that older adult died or fired them, they either had to leave the country or become an undocumented worker. As we had seen at Ein Gedi weeks earlier, the need for non-Jewish foreign labor in Israel created complicated bureaucracies that only partially met Israel's needs. Again, how different things might be if a different relationship existed between Israel and Palestine, a relationship where people could work together and where discussions of peace didn't result in exile.

Jew on Jew

A blog post by Adam. Jerusalem's Old City is a mecca (of sorts) for people of various religions. And for Jews, the Western Wall in the Old City is the holiest of sites. Jews flock here from all over the world.

The challenge is that Orthodox Jews control religious sites in Israel, and the Western Wall is no exception. For this reason there are separate men's and women's sections, with the men's section about three times larger than the women's.  Not only are men and women separate, but the rabbis who control the Western Wall have also not permitted women to wear prayer shawls and other ritual objects traditionally only used by men....until today.

After years of enduring arrests for challenging these limits on women, Women of the Wall (http://womenofthewall.org.il) recently won a court case confirming their right to pray at the wall using Jewish ritual clothing and objects.  And today, for the first time since winning the court case the women came to the Wall to pray. The police came out too, but rather than coming to make arrests, they came to protect and support the women.  We too decided to come to show our support.

Yet, in addition to the women, the police, and us, 5,000 to 10,000 Orthodox men and high school girls also showed up to demonstrate their opposition to Women of the Wall. The girls were quiet in their white blouses and long dark skirts. The men, however, were far more aggressive, taunting the Women of the Wall as well as the police, who created a human shield around the praying women. The men threw water bottles, yelled and spit on the women and their supporters. We arrived too late to join the praying women, but watched the scene from a distance and then joined the women as they left the wall under heavy police protection.  How could women wearing tallitot (prayer shawls) cause such an uproar?

The Western Wall, women praying, police protecting (in gray), and Orthodox men going crazy (in black).

As we stood watching the scene and the Orthodox men's vile hatred toward the praying women we couldn't help but feel sad for the Jewish people. Melissa pointed out that just last night we spent over four hours at Yad Vashem, Israel's Holocaust Museum. Six million Jews lost their lives in the Holocaust, and there are still fewer Jews in the world today than there were before the war. How, 65 years after losing a third of our population, could we treat each other with such disgust? Jews fighting Jews. Doesn't Israel have enough challenges at it is?

Cats

A blog post by Adam.  After so much sadness, let us focus on cute and cuddly creatures known as cats. OK, OK, so in Israel they mostly aren't so cute or cuddly, but they are still cats.

Among my most vivid memories of my first trip to Israel in 1989 are the packs of roaming feral cats. And while Israelis have told us that things have improved, many still appear to be live and well.  Exhibit A:

Wild cats hanging out on a Tel Aviv street.

They are all over the place. We've seen them in Jerusalem, and Tel Aviv, and Eilat, and Haifa (where one wandered into the hostel courtyard and apparently had a seizure inches from my chair - I couldn't bare to watch this, but Melissa said it was pretty awful). Despite Israel's best efforts, it seems that that the breeding continues....Exhibit B was intended to be a close-up of a cat with its large scrotum hanging between its legs, but my iPad trigger finger was sadly too slow to catch this very rare sight (at least for an American).

We wondered if this was something peculiar to Israel, or more of a Middle Eastern trend. Sad to say, we didn't see any cats in Jordan, although there were plenty of dogs.  And an Israeli who lived for several years in Egypt reported that Cairo does not have stray cats. Once again, Israel baffles the mind.

An Ethiopian Odyssey

A blog post by Adam. It's another long one...

We were tired. We had spent three very busy days meeting with Palestinians and Bedouins and touring the Old City. We were scheduled to take part in a march with Ethiopian Jews and we weren't sure if we were up for it. But Micha Feldman, who had been instrumental in Israeli efforts to resettle Ethiopian Jews, said we needed to do it. How could we say no?

Micha picked us up near our Jerusalem hostel, and took us to the beginning of the march.  There we learned that the march was part of an annual ceremony commemorating the Ethiopian Exodus to Israel. In the early 1980s thousands of Ethiopian Jews left their villages and walked, sometimes for weeks, to refugee camps in Sudan where they waited for as much as a year or more to fly to Israel. More than 10 percent of those leaving Ethiopia died along the way, either while walking or in Sudan.  Our march honoring those who lost their lives would last a couple hours. We quickly realized it was the least we could do to remember the thousands of Ethiopians who never made it to Israel.

We heard many stories along the way. The first man we spoke to lost his 5 year old daughter on the way to Sudan. He was marching today with his 27 year old daughter who was born in Israel.  Later a woman we met had lost a grandparent, highlighting the journey's toll on not only the young, but also the old.

Our march honoring Ethiopians who lost their lives on their journey to Israel.

A younger woman who directed a national Ethiopian youth organization, had also lost family and then experienced more loss after arriving in Israel. At 8 years old the Israeli government took her from her parents and placed her in a boarding school.  She had received an excellent education but saw a large cultural chasm form between her and her parents.  She hoped to prevent this cultural divide with younger generations of Ethiopians and their families, although she acknowledged the challenges were great. She felt that racism towards Ethiopians had actually increased during her lifetime. Still, she somehow carried a bright smile and positive hopes for the future.

The masses converge on Mt. Herzl.

The march ended at Mt. Herzl, where Israel's leaders and fallen soldiers, as well as the father of Zionism, Theodore Herzl, are buried. More than 5,000 Ethiopians gathered to take part in a moving ceremony that included singing, chanting by Ethioian Kesim or rabbis, a speech by a woman who lost two children in Sudan, and an address by Israel's 89 year old President, Shimon Perez. We were overwhelmed with emotion as we sat with so many Ethiopian Jews who had experienced such hardship in Ethiopia, during their exodus, and now in Israel. And to think, we had felt too tired to walk a few kilometers...

Ethiopian Kesim (rabbis) sing during the memorial ceremony.

Our day, however, was far from over. We adjourned to share an Israeli Arab feast with Micha and several others who had been instrumental in helping Jews leave Ethiopia. From there we went with Micha to visit a young woman who like so many other Ethiopians had arrived in Israel as an orphan. She had been abused and abandoned by so many family members her tale was nearly incomprehensible. And yet, like the other young women we had met during the march she was all smiles.  She is now excelling at a girl's boarding school with support from Selah (http://selah.org.il/), an organization that supports Israeli immigrants who have experienced tragedy. 

We next visited a woman who came to Israel as a 12 year old with no family connections only to discover that the purpose of her trip was marriage. Forced into an abusive relationship at a young age, she eventually escaped with her two young boys.  With no family and no local support she too connected with Selah, which was now helping pay for her nursing school, as well as providing emotional support and connecting her to other women in similar situations. Israel's famed welfare system was barely paying a quarter of her expenses - without Selah's support it wasn't clear how she or her sons could survive.

So many stories. So much tragedy. Micha acknowledged that Ethiopians were better off than Palestinians or Bedouin Israelis since at least they were Jewish. Still, their lives were far from easy, and Selah was clearly making a difference. But how could this small non-profit patch so many holes? Was this the Israel Ethiopian Jews had dreamed of for so many generations?  Was this the Israel Jews around the world imagined in 1948?  No, it was clear that Israel was not fulfilling our dreams. Rather, as our time here was coming to a close, Israel appeared more and more like every other human endeavor at utopia...imperfect at best, and horribly inequitable at worst. Maybe it was this creeping realization that was exhausting us more than anything else.

Peace without dialogue?

A blog post by Adam. Warning: It's another long one, but at least this time there are pictures.

We returned to Bethlehem less than 48 hours after our first visit to the Palestinian Territories. We were back to see more, to learn more.

Our visit began with tea and coffee. Unlike the frenetic pace of Rabbi Arik from the day before, things would move slower today. Despite living on the same land, despite the Semetic roots of their languages, the cultures were different in so many ways.

After a leisurely tea (for me) and coffee (for Melissa) we set off for a tour of Bethlehem. Our tour, however, would miss every single sight in the Lonely Planet. Instead we first drove through one of Bethlehem's three refuge camps. After more than 60 years the refugee camp appeared to be just another neighborhood in the city. Zoughbi explained that refugees received some services from the UN, including education and medical care and occasional aid. Given this assistance, some refugees were actually better off materially than other poor families from Bethlehem. Still, as we would we learn later in the day, at least some refugees still yearned to return to their ancestral lands.

Entrance to one of Bethlehem's three refugee camps.

UN refugee camp office.

From here we stopped to see a fence between Palestine and Israel that had cut off Palestinian access to their olive groves (the "wall" between Israel and Palestine is generally only a "wall" around Israeli urban areas, whereas on other parts of the border it is a less imposing but still large fence).

The fence cutting off Bethlehem residents from their olive groves.

The wall protecting an Israeli highway that cuts through the Palestinian Territories.

Back in the car, Zoughbi pointed out two Israeli settlements on two sides of Bethlehem. About seven years ago Israel proposed building a wall connecting the two settlements and thus cutting off Palestinian access to large swaths of farming land.  Zoughbi and others had fought this proposal but recently lost a final court challenge. The wall was coming and the Palestinans would lose more land.  

The valley currently under Palestinian control that will be walled in to connect two  Jewish settlements.

Similar to the day before, when we met with Bedouin villagers, the situation felt hopeless. How could this situation improve, defeat, after defeat, after defeat? For now we didn't have answers, but we did have Zoughbi's sister waiting at her home to serve leftovers from Orthodox Easter (which was two days ago). The treats were amazing. I had my first Arak (not as tasty), and we left our brief but warm interlude with colored Easter eggs for the road.

We returned to the Wi'am office to have lunch and meet with Nasser, who lives in a refugee camp, and now works in the Palestinian Ministry of Tourism. A slender soft spoken person, he had spent 6 years in an Israeli prison for "throwing rocks and other things" from ages 16 to 22.  Upon his release he made a commitment to non-violence and was now teaching his four children the same. Still, his passion for a Palestinian state had not subsided.

Over hummus, fava beans, and pita, Nasser shared his dreams for his community. He wanted peace but he also felt all of the Palestinian refugees (including his family) should be able to return to their former homes.  He felt Israelis and Americans understood the challenges of daily life for Palestinians, and that given the stalled peace process and continued settlements they must not care.  After several days of listening I was ready to talk, even if I didn't know what I was talking about. I said Israelis didn't understand Palestinian's plight, but they most certainly carried the fear of suicide bombings and multiple wars. I said most Americans were busy just getting by (as were most Israelis) and that aside from those with an investment in Israel and Palestine, the conflict was not our highest priority. I'm not entirely sure if my generalizations were completely accurate, but I did feel that in our dialogue we were learning and building bridges.  

The dialogue was wonderful, but it seemed it should be happening between Israelis and Palestinians, and this didn't appear to be likely. Israelis had told us they were afraid to come into the Palestinian Territories. Israeli signs at the entrance to the Territories confirmed this sentiment, warning "If you are an Israeli do not enter this zone. You are at risk of death." Zoughbi confirmed that he couldn't guarantee an Israeli's safety in Palestine. And Palestinians, like Zoughbi, didn't seem interested in going into Israel, whereas most others didn't even have this option. Was the situation impossible? How could  peace come without dialogue between average Israelis and Palestinians? Was this what Israeli and Palestinian leaders wanted?  As with our first visit, we had a heck of a time crossing the border back into Israel and we left with far more questions than answers.

The Negev's Pale of Settlement

A blog post by Adam. The car was a mess. Worse than mine. Dirt caked windshield. No hub caps. An interior decorated with layers of papers and partially empty water bottles. A hood that had to be frequently checked because its latch was precariously unsecured. It was in bad shape but it would pale in comparison to the sad scenes we were about to witness.

The day, however, didn't start in the car. Instead we took a quick trip to the Temple Mount where we saw the Al Aqsa Mosque and Dome of the Rock (both from the outside - only Muslims were allowed inside). The buildings were impressive to say the least.

Melissa in front of the Dome of the Rock.

From there we made our way to the Prime Minister's Office by way of a pastry shop in the market. It was here that the day really began. We joined a Bedouin protest against a proposal to forcibly transfer 40,000 Bedouin from unrecognized villages where they are currently living to official villages in other parts of the desert. Some of these communities have lived and farmed on these unrecognized lands for generations - from the time before Israel became a state. Many claim to have made oral agreements with the British, and the Turks before them, regarding ownership of the land. Without written documents, however, Israel doesn't recognize their land claims, and over the years Israel has repeatedly tried to push Bedouins onto smaller and smaller plots of land.  The total Bedouin land claims now constitute about 5 percent of the Negev, but this is far too much for the Israeli government; thus, Israel's plan (created with no Bedouin input) to relocate dozens of small ancestral villages.

The protest was an inspiring mix of about 150 Bedouin and Jewish Israelis (Bedouin are also Israel citizens though they clearly don't quite share equal rights with their Jewish fellow citizens). Chants were in Hebrew and Arabic, as were signs. Just as the protest took place, Israeli government officials were meeting to discuss the plan to relocate the Bedouin. We left feeling good, feeling we had participated in a productive effort to support Bedouin concerns.

Bedouin protest.

Then we got into the messy car and the brief moments of hope quickly subsided. Our driver and guide for the rest of the day would be Rabbis for Human Rights' Rabbi Arik Ascherman. His car was a good match for his frenetic personality. Talking constantly, changing subjects quickly, and on and off the cell phone without end. Sometimes in mid sentence with us he would decide to make a phone call, and after concluding the call would pick up right were he left off. Our conversation focused on the challenging history of Israeli Bedouins. We most wanted to understand why Israel was so adamant about moving the Bedouin. According to Rabbi Arik the reason was simple - Israel wanted as much land as possible for Jews, and the Bedouin had too much.

After more than an hour of driving we arrived at the remnants of al-Arakib, one of many unrecognized Bedouin villages in the Negev. Over cups of bitter coffee and sweet tea we met with a man and his father, who claimed to have lived in the area since birth. Destroyed more than 40 times by the Israeli police since 2010, al-Arakib's formerly well constructed homes are now a series of ramshackle shanties. And surrounding fields where al-Arakib's villagers had once farmed, a Jewish National Fund (JNF) forest now stood. The quasi governmental JNF that so many Americans donate to every year had taken over the Bedouin fields with no input from the Bedouin (an article from a year ago...http://972mag.com/jewish-national-fund-resumes-forestation-project-in-al-arakib/44850/). The JNF then bulldozed the fields and replanted JNF trees with police escorts. Rabbis for Human Rights had helped halt some of the planting with court victories, but the majority of the land was now a young forest. How was this good for the Jewish people?

Remnants of a Bedouin home destroyed by Israeli police.

View of the young JNF forest surrounding al-Arakib (taken through a very dirty car window).

Back in the car after our brief visit we headed into the West Bank where we saw Palestinian farmers out in their fields. With each group of farmers, Rabbi Arik would bring the car to screeching halt, jump out and see how they were doing. He explained that Jewish settlers had prevented these farmers from accessing their lands until recently, but with the support of Rabbis for Human Rights Palestinians had slowly regained their land rights. We momentarily felt hope once again.

Our hopes subsided only moments later when we learned that the government had indeed decided to move forward with its plan to relocate the Bedouin. We were shocked. Why would the government do this? To plant forests? To save the land for Jews? Rabbi Arik was back on the phone discussing strategies to respond. We heard him spontaneously draft a press release, comparing the situation to the Pale of Settlement, the designated area where 19th century Russian Jews were forced to live (http://rhr.org.il/eng/2013/05/rabbis-for-human-rights-responds-to-passage-of-the-praver-plan/). Why had we not learned from our own history?

For more information on how to support the Bedouin please go to rhr.org.il/eng.

Walls: Part Two

A blog post by Adam. Warning: This post is long and rambling without pictures.

"If you come here for four days you write a book. If you come here for four months you write an article. If you come here for four years you don't know what to write." I had heard similar quotes several times during grad school, but today was the first time I had heard a Palestinian share these words. Since we have been here just over three weeks I think I'm fully entitled to write a long and rambling article based on limited information and lots of assumptions. Welcome to our blog.

For the first time on our trip we saw the separation wall between Israel and the Palestinian Territories up close. We crossed the border into Bethlehem to meet with Zoughbi Zoughbi, director of Wi'am. Wi'am (www.alaslah.org) is a Palestinian conflict resolution center with a number of programs ranging from a women's empowerment program to a restorative justice project.  While we learned about the organization's activities and visited its offices, we spent most of our time talking about the Israeli Palestinian conflict.

Zoughbi talked about how the occupation had strangled the community, and how life had become increasingly difficult since the wall's construction.  He pointed out two different refugee camps within Bethlehem, which from the outside simply appeared to be part of the city.  He discussed the extreme unemployment, particularly among youth. Ultimately, the occupation was the root cause of all of Bethlehem's problems. Life was better when they had been part of Jordan, which made sense as we looked out the window of Wi'am where the wall and an Israeli guard tower stood just 100 feet away.

Then the conversation shifted to the "Arab Spring".  Zoughbi felt the "Arab Spring" had been a disaster for Arabs because Islamic groups had taken control in Libya, Egypt, and now in Syria.  He didn't trust Morsi, and seemed to think that Syria's Assad was better than the al Queda supported rebels now fighting for freedom in Syria.  A supporter of Fatah, he didn't feel Palestine had a future with Hamas. Suddenly Israel wasn't the only challenge facing Palestinians and the Arab world. Things were getting more complicated.

Zoughbi mentioned the various exchanges between Wi'am participants and people from other countries, but acknowledged that they had not recently come together with Israelis.  He said that given the unequal power dynamic of Israelis over Palestinians, meetings between the two groups only made sense in a neutral place, and he had no interest in taking Wi'am participants into Israel. Was everything Israel's fault if he wasn't willing to go into Israel? Then again, even if he did want travel to Israel, it was very difficult for him to get a permit. Another layer of complication. 

As things percolated in my head, I found myself still overwhelmed by the presence of the wall. The wall had certainly limited Palestinian mobility and cut off Palestinian's access to much of their land, but it was hard to deny the tremendous reduction in suicide bombings since the completion of the wall. I could feel the difference in Jerusalem from my last trip to Israel seven years ago - the presence of security guards at every coffee shop and store had disappeared; people now filled the streets, moving freely with little concern for safety. Zoughbi claimed the suicide bombings had decreased because of a change in tactics, not because of the wall. Was that really possible? What was the truth? Knowing we wanted to see and hear more, Zoughbi encouraged us to return to meet others in his community. We agreed to come back in two days.

In order to be able to return, however, we first needed to leave by crossing over the wall. Whereas the bus ride into Palestine had taken 45 minutes, the return trip was closer to an hour and half, as we waited in line with Palestinians at the border. We crossed the border and then boarded a bus in Israel only to find the entire bus stopped and searched once more 15 minutes later. With a bus full of Palestinians (who had already made it through the official border crossing) it was a long stop, as the young Israeli police officers meticulously examined everyone's documents. It's good we were on vacation and not in a rush. I can only imagine what it must be like to endure this on a daily basis in order to get to work, or possibly visit family members on opposite sides of the wall.  That is if you're even allowed to cross the wall...

Make hummus, not war.

A blog post by Melissa. Akko is mentioned in Egyptians texts, but it really didn't get going until it became the Crusader capitol. Akko was the Christian pilgrim's place of rest and protection after a long voyage on the Mediterranean from Europe to the holy land. The crusaders were forced out by Mamluks (who apparently have no other claim to fame since no one has ever heard of them) and Akko was forgotten for about four hundred years in a pile of rubble. The Ottoman Empire saw its value though, and built mosques, market stalls and buildings from what remained of ancient Akko to create the charming fishing village and trade port it is today. I hope it remains as it is, a little bit undiscovered.

Although the city walls are old and crumbling, men, women, children and life spring from everywhere. This is a place where Jews, Christians, Muslims, and Baha'i all thrive in peace. It was very refreshing and beautiful to witness. Some may say its because there have been so many different families that have lived here for generations that come from all parts of the globe and different ways of life. I personally think it all comes down to the hummus. The best food, and more importantly hummus, in Israel is in Akko. Just to prove my point, I took some pictures of our hostel breakfast. 

So, what do you think? Can delicious food create world peace?

As we walked around the city, the narrow street got more packed as we walked towards the fish market. During our walk we saw a group of boys climbing to the top of the city fortress wall and flipping into the Mediterranean. 

Sitting in the sun by the turquoise waters, I can really see why this place has been considered a respite for many people that come here, whether they are Christian pilgrims, Arab-Israelis, or tourists in search of good hummus.

Squeegees

A blog post by Adam. Israel loves its squeegees. Here there are squeegees for cleaning the windshield. And for cleaning the kitchen counter. And for cleaning the bathroom floor.

The kitchen squeegee.

The bathroom squeegee (in a private home....note the drain where excess water should be squeegeed).

The bathroom squeegee in a hostel. With the shower curtain there was actually nothing to squeegee. Also, the presence of the bath mat made squeegeeing impossible. Still it's better to be safe than sorry when it comes to squeegees.

The bathroom floor one is interesting...every shower seems to have one, because most showers have inadequate shower curtains and so water gets all over the floor. You then have to squeegee up the post shower mess. You can find the bathroom squeegee even in very nice homes like that of my cousin's (who have three wireless routers in different pats of the house to ensure that you will have a wireless connection in every corner). With so much technology and innovation why doesn't Israel invest in good shower curtains? What is it with the squeegee?

Sea to Pasuta

A blog post by Adam. As many of you know, we planned to hike from the Mediterranean Sea to the Sea of Galilee.

4 days. 70 kilometers. More than 4,000 feet of elevation, much of it while climbing Israel's second highest peak. Temperatures above 90 degrees. 40 pound packs including camping equipment and a minimum of 6 liters of water per day. About 28 creek crossings (in the first day alone).

The formidable Sea to Sea trail.  We made it just past the first large red dot along the route.

We decided to do this with essentially no training. In retrospect a little training might have been helpful. We began the trek with a ceremonial head dunking in the Mediterranean followed by 10 hours of grueling and beautiful hiking (with a brief stop at an amazing swimming hole). We arrived at camp the first night completely spent.

The next day we got up early in an attempt to beat the sun, but within an hour of hiking we realized the sun had already beaten us. The exhaustion from the previous day had not subsided and we decided we had gone far enough. We hobbled into Pasuta, an Arab village about 25 kilometers from the Mediterranean, and called it quits. After waiting about 2 hours for a bus, the air conditioned ride into Ma'alot, near where my cousin Mina lives, was glorious.

Though we had only made it a third of the way to the Kinneret, not all was lost....

Along the way we met several others embarking on the same journey...a couple men on horses, a single 28 year old, a group of Australians on a 5 month program in Israel. We continuously crossed paths with them as we trudged along.  We shared dinner with them around the fire at the end of the day.  It was a unique way to connect with Israelis and fellow travelers, perhaps much like joining others on a pilgrimage route.

We also learned that the Middle Eastern sun is no joke, and that poor physical conditioning can really slow you down.

I hope to return one day to complete the hike. But if that doesn't happen, at least I can say I've been to Pasuta, which is not something most can say.