In Palestine, like many other countries in the Mid-East and Africa (or even folks from those countries who are in the US), the role of the Mother is very important. She takes care of everything her child(ren) need. In Palestine, most people are married by at least 21 or 22. And they stay married 95% of the time. Divorce doesn't happen here much. Not because of being forced to stay though.
As my cousin Shyma explained, there are people in place to help mediate at every juncture of the marriage. She's one of those people. She's not a therapist or a lawyer. She's a nurse. But because she's the head staff nurse at 2 large clinics and a hospital (she shares her time between them), she has a lot of interaction with the women who come. She doesn't do the medical stuff with them and their children. She talks to them about their lives, their problems. How to best work things out. That's how many people work things out here. And it works.
She has many young mothers come through (pediatrics is her specialty, but she works with the mothers as well as people too) to help them deal with being a mother because so many of them just got married or have been married for a while and now have a baby to take care of and although they have the help of their families, they don't feel like they are up to being mothers. Sound familiar? Only here, someone will help you. You won't be left high and dry to just work it out. And people helping you actually care. I guess that's the difference between social work in the US and social work here. The people have BEEN directly affected by the issue and so they know what it's like. As opposed to so many Social Workie folks in the US who have no idea what its like and start to not care.
The problem though with this now is that my cousin is being there for all these women and working a lot. She's at home still, doing things, but with very limited she. She also has a 2 1/2 year old and 4 year old. She's there for them as much as she can be. But she also wants to do her job. Her kids are at my aunts house, their grandmothers, after school when she's done teaching so it's no problem and then my cousin picks them up. She'll hang out here and then go home. She says her husband use to never help out, but now he helps a little bit. It would be one thing if she wasn't working full time AND helping her father with his driving school, but she is. In the US, it's "Normal" behavior if you're working a lot for whatever reason and someone else has to watch your kids, you do what you have to do and spend some time with them. Here that's no acceptable. My aunt says it's a sin. It's a sin to have a demanding career and kids and have to sacrifice some time? Hm. Perhaps, but it's reality. She's trying to save up to build a house. That's going to take work. She's going to have to sacrifice some time. And besides, that's what grandma's are for, right? I'm sure if it was up to my cousin, she would have waited a little while longer to get married. She's 26. She's been married 4 years. They don't really do birth control here. Of course she could get some since she's a nurse, but like the Catholics, it's grow and prosper here.
And don't get me wrong. She loves her kids and her husband. She was in love with him before they got married, so it wasn't like a random forced marriage. They went to college together. He graduated 2 years before her, but they kept in touch. He went to her dad and asked to marry her and they said to wait until she graduated and they did. She was grateful that her father did that. She probably would have never finished school if she got married at 19. She probably would have had more children and not following her dreams.
She feels the stress though,as any young mother would, to have her children and her job. To not get burnt out from doing both full time and trying to make a house. Of course it's harder when her husband wont cook or clean. It makes it harder. But hell, that's not new. That's been the role play for a long time all over the place. Of course in the US, if the dad sticks around, it can possibly be more of a partnership.
I told her to talk with him. She has. He's better than he used to be, she says.
I told her that sometimes with men that come from this kind of thinking, you have to trick them into doing more. She agreed. It just is the way it is. What can she do?
She said that things were nice, all lovey before they got married and when they first got married and then after a bit of time, she saw that he was different than she though and he saw that she was different than she thought. Sounds familiar, but for different reasons. In the US, folks say it's because "people change" after marriage in terms of what they want and commitment and all that. Clearly folks aren't spending enough time with each other, living with each other, knowing each other BEFORE they get married. But in my cousins instance, it's more like he thought she'd be a submissive yes sir wife who would above all put her family before her career and do everything for him on hands and knees...or something along those lines. And she thought he was the perfect guy, who would do romantic gestures all the time and help her, not treat her like a servant and then be a more active father once the kids came. They both had a fantasy that wasn't very close to reality and after 4 years of marriage, they are learning that they're going to have to really work with each other and be a partnership...even if it still won't be equal, it's better than it use to be. Hopefully it'll continue to get better for her.
Why is it a bad thing to have your career and your family? Sometimes it's gonna be hard. Sometimes you're going to spend more time at work, than with your kids. Any young adult trying make a better life for their family is going to go through this. She's not rich. She has to work for what she needs to do. If she wants to send her kids to college. If she wants to build a house (folks don't really buy houses here... they buy a plot of land and build a house on it...it's waaaaaaay less expensive to do all of that than it will ever be to buy a house in the US...crazy huh?)
Just wanted to write about that a bit.
I'm getting distracted, so I'll leave it that that.
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Friday, October 24, 2008
Thurs Oct 23rd in Jerusalem and then some
Today I went to the Orthodox Russian Church of Mary Magdalene, to the birth place of the Virgin Mary and to her Tomb. I wanted to do more walking to other sites and churches, but today I was just too tired.
This morning I felt so tired but like I could handle it. And on the bus ride into Jerusalem, I started feeling a bit nauseated, but felt better when I got off the bus and starting walking and getting some fresh air. But I just dragged and dragged once I had to climb up hill and then down to get to the Churches. Definitely wasn't even a quarter of what I did Tues but I still felt it.
I guess I didn't get a good enough rest last night. I would have just left and went back to my Aunts casa, but I'm seeing Nihaya's mom today so I need to stay in the area.
So I'm in a cafe getting a snack so I don't fall over. Maybe I didn't eat enough this morning for all this walking. Then again I felt full. I think my body has had it's fill of white flour khubbuz. Maybe it's time for some wheat or whole grain if I can get it, but I doubt it. Maybe just no khubbuz at all. LAH KHUBBUZ!!!!
I'll use my hands instead.
That's what'll make you fat. All that damn bread. Ha! I say that as I eat a bit more with my hummus and tabouli! I'm glad I've been walking up and down so many hills and mounts.
5 more days until I'm back in NYC. I almost can't believe a month passed and I've seen all this stuff and there's still so much more to see. I wonder what else I can see before I go? Not sure where else I can go? I've got 70 Shekels left. That's like $20 or so. I can go to the party tonight for 40 Sheks. Fri not so much goes on because its sabbath. Sat I may go to my cousins. And sun and mon? I don't know. Going some where will cost more money. Maybe there's a show I can go to or just hang with my cousins or do more writing. I don't want to have to take money out of the bank since when I get back the first of the month is days away.
Gotta get back to reality now. Real life. Yay!
Maybe I'll just hang out with my cousins. I'm sure my Uncle also wants me to come back to Beit Rima for a day or 2 and that doesn't cost anything....except a bit of sanity...
I also wonder what I'll be thinking once I go back to the US. I wonder if the peace and connection to whatever higher power will last. It's not as if connections with God are severed across the world. I just live in a place where slowing down isn't always an option and in the bustle of living, you forget your peace. Get lost in your caffeine and don't know how to get back to connect.
I hope I can still stay connected. I hope to not get so lost in the shuffle that I lose the peace I've acquired over this month.
What's interesting though s that I haven't really been working on my self reflecting book. I've been writing in my other story. Doing these blogs. Writing emails to folks. But when writing about my life in the book I was working on, I sort of haven't felt compelled to write anything about it. Not sure why. Maybe I've done enough self reflecting in my blogs and in myself to feel sated on the need to do it. Who knows. All the writing I've done though is enough to add to the book for later anyway and to point it into the direction and the theme of what the book is about.
I also realized that I still didn't get too much more info on my dad. Maybe thats also something I can do this weekend. Grill my aunt and uncle on information on my dad. That'll inspire me to write. As hard as it will be to do, I'll do it.
I think it'll make the bond and connection to the peace I've gotten a bit of be stronger while I'm back in NY.
This morning I felt so tired but like I could handle it. And on the bus ride into Jerusalem, I started feeling a bit nauseated, but felt better when I got off the bus and starting walking and getting some fresh air. But I just dragged and dragged once I had to climb up hill and then down to get to the Churches. Definitely wasn't even a quarter of what I did Tues but I still felt it.
I guess I didn't get a good enough rest last night. I would have just left and went back to my Aunts casa, but I'm seeing Nihaya's mom today so I need to stay in the area.
So I'm in a cafe getting a snack so I don't fall over. Maybe I didn't eat enough this morning for all this walking. Then again I felt full. I think my body has had it's fill of white flour khubbuz. Maybe it's time for some wheat or whole grain if I can get it, but I doubt it. Maybe just no khubbuz at all. LAH KHUBBUZ!!!!
I'll use my hands instead.
That's what'll make you fat. All that damn bread. Ha! I say that as I eat a bit more with my hummus and tabouli! I'm glad I've been walking up and down so many hills and mounts.
5 more days until I'm back in NYC. I almost can't believe a month passed and I've seen all this stuff and there's still so much more to see. I wonder what else I can see before I go? Not sure where else I can go? I've got 70 Shekels left. That's like $20 or so. I can go to the party tonight for 40 Sheks. Fri not so much goes on because its sabbath. Sat I may go to my cousins. And sun and mon? I don't know. Going some where will cost more money. Maybe there's a show I can go to or just hang with my cousins or do more writing. I don't want to have to take money out of the bank since when I get back the first of the month is days away.
Gotta get back to reality now. Real life. Yay!
Maybe I'll just hang out with my cousins. I'm sure my Uncle also wants me to come back to Beit Rima for a day or 2 and that doesn't cost anything....except a bit of sanity...
I also wonder what I'll be thinking once I go back to the US. I wonder if the peace and connection to whatever higher power will last. It's not as if connections with God are severed across the world. I just live in a place where slowing down isn't always an option and in the bustle of living, you forget your peace. Get lost in your caffeine and don't know how to get back to connect.
I hope I can still stay connected. I hope to not get so lost in the shuffle that I lose the peace I've acquired over this month.
What's interesting though s that I haven't really been working on my self reflecting book. I've been writing in my other story. Doing these blogs. Writing emails to folks. But when writing about my life in the book I was working on, I sort of haven't felt compelled to write anything about it. Not sure why. Maybe I've done enough self reflecting in my blogs and in myself to feel sated on the need to do it. Who knows. All the writing I've done though is enough to add to the book for later anyway and to point it into the direction and the theme of what the book is about.
I also realized that I still didn't get too much more info on my dad. Maybe thats also something I can do this weekend. Grill my aunt and uncle on information on my dad. That'll inspire me to write. As hard as it will be to do, I'll do it.
I think it'll make the bond and connection to the peace I've gotten a bit of be stronger while I'm back in NY.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Jerusalem Day 2 Part 2
We drove along the streets of Jerusalem, on our way to the central bus station. It's a small area where a lot of buses cram together to get folks to where they need to go across the country. We arrived and I pointed the Frenchmen into the direction they needed to into for the bus to the airport. I got off on the last stop after all and walked back down to the way I'd gone before.
I walked along to the Old City, entering by Jaffa Gate. There are no gates, you see. It's all stoned entrance and ground and walls, surrounding you. There are very few openings to the sky as you walk along the marketed stone streets in the Old City. It's once you get to the sites by the churches and such that you feel how bright the sun is and feel its warmth on your skin.
I decided Monday not to use a map or to go with a program. I just played it by ear. And it was the best thing I ever did. As I walked along, I remembered little streets and vendors that I had seen before. I remembered where my Aunt's brothers restaurant was, I remembered the little Ethiopian monastery I passed before. I remembered
I went up the same steps I had gone before to see the Ethiopian Monastery. I had seen a lot if before, but I had a feeling I missed some things. So I retraced my steps and found some new things. A path down to a basement, filled with water. It was a black cave, full of slipper slick rock. Water pooled down at the bottom. A guide far down below was telling some people that every church in Jerusalem had one. I don't remember hearing him say exactly why. I walked back up out of the small dark space and up into the light of one part of the church. I went and sat in another part of the church I hadn't been in before. The pulpit part was gated off, but benches lined the outside so that one could sit and pray. One of the monks sat by the gate, watching folks come and go. I sat there for a while in front of the gate and said a prayer. I really saw what was there. Felt what was there. Knew that I was supposed to be there.
The monk wore a long black tunic/coat like thing and a black hat. His black beard was full. His brown cheeks were round. His eyes were shiney and happy. His smile went all the way up to his eyes. It was genuine. Real. For some reason, the monk was moved by my presence. He sat up, paying attention now and said a little prayer with me. He couldn't sit next to me, but he was close. Was still all smiles. Maybe was surprised that a single young woman was coming around and not just taking pictures, but taking the time to really see and feel the places she visited in the holy land. Maybe.
Once I got up to leave, he smiled at me again. Full and peaceful. Made me give him a full smile. When I exited the door, I was surprised. I was next to the entrance of the Sepulchre. I hadn't realized that this was right next to it. I went back into the church that I had gone into before. But I felt like there were still more things I hadn't seen before. When you enter the churches massive doors, the first thing you see immediately in front of you is the stone they washes Jesus on after he was crucified. I looked around and saw that it wasn't as crowded as it had been the time I came before. I went and took more pictures of the stone. This time though, I went down on my knees and placed my hands on it. It was as if the cold stone's life sent shock waves through the rest of me. I closed my eyes and said a little prayer for guidance as I touched the stone. I touched my head and face and felt the need to weep. I let myself cry and really feel what was going on.
I stayed for a long time in the church this time. I really wanted to see all there was to see and really look at what I saw before with more than just my physical eyes. I was glad I did. My interal map lead me to see things I hadnt seen before. To experience as I hadn't before.
I walked about some more once I left the Holy Sepulchre. I walked in a few circles, trying to find an open space where coffee shops and food were. I had been walking for a long time and hadn't eaten since early in the morning AND my aunt ran out of coffee so I had filled up on tea hoping to get a hint of energy. I found a little spot called Geo's espresso cafe where all the men who worked there smiled at me, looking at me so hard they burned holes in my head, hoping I'd spark a conversation. I didn't. :) Would it have gotten me free coffee? Maybe. But a buck for a shot of good expresso isn't a bad deal, so I kept to myself. Besides, any time I looked them straight in the eyes, they'd look away. Every time. All over Palestine, the muslim men do that every time. The only time they hold eye contact is when I pass by in a car. No way of stopping to ask them what the hell they're looking at. In any event, I wasn't really in a talking mood anyway. I was in a watching mood. So I sat with my yummy espresso and people watched for 15mins to get back some energy. German and Russian touristas in bright orange and yellow hats passed me by. I took a moment to write an email, watched some more people walk by and kept it moving.
I hadn't realized before that Canaries line the shops and restaurant walls here in the closed stone walls of the Old City. To ensure natural gas leaks that folks can't smell don't poison them. The bird lives, everyone lives.
My Aunt Maha's brother Mahmoud remembered me from the 1st time I came to his restaurant. He's tall and olive complected. Looks a lot like some of my other uncles. He has name brand wire rimmed glasses over kind brown eyes. Thinning brown hair and a happy smile. He works had at his restaurant. Al Aelat. The food was goof the last time, so I came back, not wanting to buy over priced falafel thats been sitting in the sun. I learned my lesson in Jericho that 2 kinds of falafel will tear you a new one with a 2-day hole in your stomach. Falafel thats been sitting in the sun all day OR falafel that hasn't been cocked all the way through. Wasn't gonna chance it.
The place was semi-quiet or at least more quiet then the first time I went. 4 muslim women dressed very colorfully have coffee in the corner. A European couple with 2 small children speaking Hebrew and polish eat schnitzel and drink coffee. An Australian woman works out a way to buy a good hookah pipe using the resources of one of the cooks she talked to. They sat, smoked cigarettes, talking about argilla and the world.
As I finished the last of my shawarma, I feel sated. Not just on food, but on what I'd done with my time here. Time well spent is always satisfying.
Mahmoud welcomed me anytime and gave me a discount. It was a really nice gesture not because of not charging me full (since it wasn't a very expensive meal) but because it made me feel welcomed as family, even though he was family through the marriage of his sister to my uncle. Once I left, I wasn't sure where else I would walk. I read a bit of my book in the restaurant.
I walked out and just kept on walking. I made it back to Jaffa gate and wondered if I should walk out to see some other things or if I should keep walking through the stoned streets. Jamelah called me and I talked to her for a little while as I watched people pass me by on the corner junction by the gate. The busy sounds, busy smells, busy people move fast. And the fruit and vegetable stands are colorful against the light of the market by Jaffa gate.
I decided to walk back through the other side of the stoned streets that I hadn't remembered walking, closer to the Via Dolorosa once it ends. I walked along looking at the market and the things people sold in them. Scarves, flags, wooden statues, plates, key chains, evil eyes and more. I wanted to get some of the plates, but I couldn't find a shop I found before that I liked. And I dind't want to settle for another shop, when I wanted the shop I found before. I knew I'd find it eventually, even if on another day.
I walked along and went by one of the stations of the Via Dolorso that I hadn't gone into before. These are the ones they say where Jesus fell the first time and then where Jesus saw his mother Mary. There are statues in the places where they believe he fell. A young palestinian man showed me where they were. He wanted me to buy something in the shop, but I had all the crucifixes and post cards I wanted and didn't want a stuffed camel.
I made my way back over by Jaffa Gate and decided to walk around to the other side of the Old city, through the outside to see what was there. I figured I'd bump into something. I was really interested in seeing if I could find the tomb of the Virgin Mary or Mary Magdalene. Those were on the Mt. of Olives and I was determined to find it. By the look of the map, it was around the corner down far on the right. But the map wasnt always right. I figured it wouldn't hurt for me to walk that way anyway, since I hadn't yet.
On my way out, I ran into the french man from the bus that morning.
"Oh hey." I said, as he bought a long oval piece of bread with seasame seeds on them.
"Hi. Salaam. Good to see you again." He replied with a smile.
"You're friend found his way ok on the bus?" I wanted to make sure they hadn't run into any more trouble.
"Yes. Shukran. He made it fine on the bus and should be on his flight now." He came around the bread buyer and we still seemed to be in the way.
"Thats good. I'm glad to hear it. Just gotta be very careful when it comes to these soldiers." I said to him. He smiled and nodded. He knew the drill, but maybe figured became he was a light skin man he would have flown under the radar. But they don't care. They can smell "Palestinian sympathizer" from miles away. "Oh by the way, whats your name?"
"Oh." He laughed, tapped his head and shook it. "Yes of course. It's Michele. What's yours?"
"Eman. Nice to meet you." I reached out to shake his hand. We were still in the way of the people passing by, even though I knew we weren't. I motioned us off to the side by a bunch of bushes close to the steps going up to the street.
"Do you want to go get a drink or something?" He asked suddenly. I wasn't sure what to say. I didn't know this guy and it was already a little after 3pm. The sun sets completely by 5:45pm and I didn't want to miss out on the light and on seeing whatever else I wanted to see.
"Um. Maybe another time. I'm trying to get around the Old City to see Mary's Tomb and whatever else and I want to be on the bus by sunset." I replied with a smile.
"Oh really? Um. Okay. Well, how do you like your trip so far? Are you visiting family?" I still wanted to have conversation, which was fine with me. He was a really nice guy and I like meeting new people. After all I didn't know what kind of drink he wanted so I couldn't knock him for trying to spend some time with a nice young woman who was friendly and had a brain.
"I've been loving it. Its been great. Today I just walked around the Old City again and wanted to try and see the other side before I have to leave next week. Its been amazing though and I've been visiting my family and staying in Ramallah." I replied.
"Oh nice. I've been staying in a hostel in the Old City. It's nice. I was on my way over since we leave tomorrow and are leaving very late in the night to get to the airport." I said motioning to the stoned walls to left. "Are you sure you don't want to get a drink?" He asked again. We were talking anyway and the most I felt like in the moment was water anyway.
"You know what, why not? We're talking anyway. But I just have a little bit of time, so that I can try and see some other things today." I said as we walked up the steps.
"No problem. Let's just go close to here." He said as we walked.
We ended up going right across the street from the Old City to this little place that had a few small store on the bottom and a restaurant on the top. I got water and he got a pepermint tea. See, wasn't that kind of drink. We talked about the politics of the country and what was going on with the Olive Trees. I told him about my family's trees. He told me about some people he tried to help with an organization that helps Palestinians with their trees. He told me of soldiers and settlers who were saying racial slurs to folks from other countries who came to help the Palestinians pick their Olives. We talked about how most of the french didn't like thier new President because he was good friends with Bush. He had been to Palestine about 11 years before and he said it was even harder then to get around.
Michele use to be a Social Worker in france and turned into a farmer. He said he loved the land. He talked about wanting to help Palestinians more, but knowing that sometimes it was a powerless fight. He asked me about religion, about women's rights, and about being american and palestinian. We talked for an hour before I realized what time it was. He bought my water, even though I protested. He said he invited me and it was just water. We exchanged emails. He walked me to the corner and gave me a hug and a kiss on each cheek. I told him to have a safe flight in the morning and to email me soon.
I walked along the outside of the stone walls and passed the Rockefeller museum. I didn't feel compelled to go in, so I kept walking. I also didn't feel compelled to give them 30NIS (about $8). I kept moving down and followed the stone walls until there didn't seem to be anymore. There was a sign that pointed to the Western Wall. It seemed like a bitch of a sketchy entrance so I kept walking around down hill in the same direction, but following traffic. Off in the distance were hills and trees and the tops of churches. This HAD to be the Mt. of Olives. I wasn't sure if it was, but I had a feeling it was. I kept moving down the hill until there was another entrance for the western wall farther down along the hill. I walked up the other hill and made it up by the other entrance there. Before I went into the other gate to see, I saw an old Muslim cemetery and decided to go in a see it. I paid my respects at the entrance, walking in slowly, in case there were some crazy guards here just like by the Dome and Al-Aqsa.
No one was guards were in sight so I walked in. An older white man stood high on one of the tombs, taking pictures of the mountain across the road. Off in the distance, you could see the churches more clearly. One church had gold tops to it, round and then a pointy top. Another had a biblical painting on the front by large steps going down. This was where I needed to visit next! I walked around the cemetery, taking pictures of tombstones and of the view. The man walked down and towards me. He knew very few words in English. At first I wasn't sure if he was speaking Russian or not, but then he said he was Polish. He wanted me to take some pictures of him with the back round of the Mt. of Olives. I did just that and he did the same for me. He spoke to me in Polish, but some how we managed to communicate just fine. He was a very nice man. His name was Strofsky. I was surprised he addressed himself by his last name, but it was fine.
He was really happy with the way I took pictures of him with the back round and all. It was a nice day to meet people.
By the time I was done at the cemetery, it was a little after 5. I went towards the Western Wall, but I saw there was a church and the site where Mary was born. I wanted to visit it, but it was closing. It was getting dark and too late to visit any more for the day. I had seen a lot that day anyway. So I noted where everything was and made my way back over to the bus. It was a long walk back to the station anyway and I preferred to do it with the little bit of light I had.
Besides I need to get rest if I was going to climb the Mt of Olives the next day!
I walked along to the Old City, entering by Jaffa Gate. There are no gates, you see. It's all stoned entrance and ground and walls, surrounding you. There are very few openings to the sky as you walk along the marketed stone streets in the Old City. It's once you get to the sites by the churches and such that you feel how bright the sun is and feel its warmth on your skin.
I decided Monday not to use a map or to go with a program. I just played it by ear. And it was the best thing I ever did. As I walked along, I remembered little streets and vendors that I had seen before. I remembered where my Aunt's brothers restaurant was, I remembered the little Ethiopian monastery I passed before. I remembered
I went up the same steps I had gone before to see the Ethiopian Monastery. I had seen a lot if before, but I had a feeling I missed some things. So I retraced my steps and found some new things. A path down to a basement, filled with water. It was a black cave, full of slipper slick rock. Water pooled down at the bottom. A guide far down below was telling some people that every church in Jerusalem had one. I don't remember hearing him say exactly why. I walked back up out of the small dark space and up into the light of one part of the church. I went and sat in another part of the church I hadn't been in before. The pulpit part was gated off, but benches lined the outside so that one could sit and pray. One of the monks sat by the gate, watching folks come and go. I sat there for a while in front of the gate and said a prayer. I really saw what was there. Felt what was there. Knew that I was supposed to be there.
The monk wore a long black tunic/coat like thing and a black hat. His black beard was full. His brown cheeks were round. His eyes were shiney and happy. His smile went all the way up to his eyes. It was genuine. Real. For some reason, the monk was moved by my presence. He sat up, paying attention now and said a little prayer with me. He couldn't sit next to me, but he was close. Was still all smiles. Maybe was surprised that a single young woman was coming around and not just taking pictures, but taking the time to really see and feel the places she visited in the holy land. Maybe.
Once I got up to leave, he smiled at me again. Full and peaceful. Made me give him a full smile. When I exited the door, I was surprised. I was next to the entrance of the Sepulchre. I hadn't realized that this was right next to it. I went back into the church that I had gone into before. But I felt like there were still more things I hadn't seen before. When you enter the churches massive doors, the first thing you see immediately in front of you is the stone they washes Jesus on after he was crucified. I looked around and saw that it wasn't as crowded as it had been the time I came before. I went and took more pictures of the stone. This time though, I went down on my knees and placed my hands on it. It was as if the cold stone's life sent shock waves through the rest of me. I closed my eyes and said a little prayer for guidance as I touched the stone. I touched my head and face and felt the need to weep. I let myself cry and really feel what was going on.
I stayed for a long time in the church this time. I really wanted to see all there was to see and really look at what I saw before with more than just my physical eyes. I was glad I did. My interal map lead me to see things I hadnt seen before. To experience as I hadn't before.
I walked about some more once I left the Holy Sepulchre. I walked in a few circles, trying to find an open space where coffee shops and food were. I had been walking for a long time and hadn't eaten since early in the morning AND my aunt ran out of coffee so I had filled up on tea hoping to get a hint of energy. I found a little spot called Geo's espresso cafe where all the men who worked there smiled at me, looking at me so hard they burned holes in my head, hoping I'd spark a conversation. I didn't. :) Would it have gotten me free coffee? Maybe. But a buck for a shot of good expresso isn't a bad deal, so I kept to myself. Besides, any time I looked them straight in the eyes, they'd look away. Every time. All over Palestine, the muslim men do that every time. The only time they hold eye contact is when I pass by in a car. No way of stopping to ask them what the hell they're looking at. In any event, I wasn't really in a talking mood anyway. I was in a watching mood. So I sat with my yummy espresso and people watched for 15mins to get back some energy. German and Russian touristas in bright orange and yellow hats passed me by. I took a moment to write an email, watched some more people walk by and kept it moving.
I hadn't realized before that Canaries line the shops and restaurant walls here in the closed stone walls of the Old City. To ensure natural gas leaks that folks can't smell don't poison them. The bird lives, everyone lives.
My Aunt Maha's brother Mahmoud remembered me from the 1st time I came to his restaurant. He's tall and olive complected. Looks a lot like some of my other uncles. He has name brand wire rimmed glasses over kind brown eyes. Thinning brown hair and a happy smile. He works had at his restaurant. Al Aelat. The food was goof the last time, so I came back, not wanting to buy over priced falafel thats been sitting in the sun. I learned my lesson in Jericho that 2 kinds of falafel will tear you a new one with a 2-day hole in your stomach. Falafel thats been sitting in the sun all day OR falafel that hasn't been cocked all the way through. Wasn't gonna chance it.
The place was semi-quiet or at least more quiet then the first time I went. 4 muslim women dressed very colorfully have coffee in the corner. A European couple with 2 small children speaking Hebrew and polish eat schnitzel and drink coffee. An Australian woman works out a way to buy a good hookah pipe using the resources of one of the cooks she talked to. They sat, smoked cigarettes, talking about argilla and the world.
As I finished the last of my shawarma, I feel sated. Not just on food, but on what I'd done with my time here. Time well spent is always satisfying.
Mahmoud welcomed me anytime and gave me a discount. It was a really nice gesture not because of not charging me full (since it wasn't a very expensive meal) but because it made me feel welcomed as family, even though he was family through the marriage of his sister to my uncle. Once I left, I wasn't sure where else I would walk. I read a bit of my book in the restaurant.
I walked out and just kept on walking. I made it back to Jaffa gate and wondered if I should walk out to see some other things or if I should keep walking through the stoned streets. Jamelah called me and I talked to her for a little while as I watched people pass me by on the corner junction by the gate. The busy sounds, busy smells, busy people move fast. And the fruit and vegetable stands are colorful against the light of the market by Jaffa gate.
I decided to walk back through the other side of the stoned streets that I hadn't remembered walking, closer to the Via Dolorosa once it ends. I walked along looking at the market and the things people sold in them. Scarves, flags, wooden statues, plates, key chains, evil eyes and more. I wanted to get some of the plates, but I couldn't find a shop I found before that I liked. And I dind't want to settle for another shop, when I wanted the shop I found before. I knew I'd find it eventually, even if on another day.
I walked along and went by one of the stations of the Via Dolorso that I hadn't gone into before. These are the ones they say where Jesus fell the first time and then where Jesus saw his mother Mary. There are statues in the places where they believe he fell. A young palestinian man showed me where they were. He wanted me to buy something in the shop, but I had all the crucifixes and post cards I wanted and didn't want a stuffed camel.
I made my way back over by Jaffa Gate and decided to walk around to the other side of the Old city, through the outside to see what was there. I figured I'd bump into something. I was really interested in seeing if I could find the tomb of the Virgin Mary or Mary Magdalene. Those were on the Mt. of Olives and I was determined to find it. By the look of the map, it was around the corner down far on the right. But the map wasnt always right. I figured it wouldn't hurt for me to walk that way anyway, since I hadn't yet.
On my way out, I ran into the french man from the bus that morning.
"Oh hey." I said, as he bought a long oval piece of bread with seasame seeds on them.
"Hi. Salaam. Good to see you again." He replied with a smile.
"You're friend found his way ok on the bus?" I wanted to make sure they hadn't run into any more trouble.
"Yes. Shukran. He made it fine on the bus and should be on his flight now." He came around the bread buyer and we still seemed to be in the way.
"Thats good. I'm glad to hear it. Just gotta be very careful when it comes to these soldiers." I said to him. He smiled and nodded. He knew the drill, but maybe figured became he was a light skin man he would have flown under the radar. But they don't care. They can smell "Palestinian sympathizer" from miles away. "Oh by the way, whats your name?"
"Oh." He laughed, tapped his head and shook it. "Yes of course. It's Michele. What's yours?"
"Eman. Nice to meet you." I reached out to shake his hand. We were still in the way of the people passing by, even though I knew we weren't. I motioned us off to the side by a bunch of bushes close to the steps going up to the street.
"Do you want to go get a drink or something?" He asked suddenly. I wasn't sure what to say. I didn't know this guy and it was already a little after 3pm. The sun sets completely by 5:45pm and I didn't want to miss out on the light and on seeing whatever else I wanted to see.
"Um. Maybe another time. I'm trying to get around the Old City to see Mary's Tomb and whatever else and I want to be on the bus by sunset." I replied with a smile.
"Oh really? Um. Okay. Well, how do you like your trip so far? Are you visiting family?" I still wanted to have conversation, which was fine with me. He was a really nice guy and I like meeting new people. After all I didn't know what kind of drink he wanted so I couldn't knock him for trying to spend some time with a nice young woman who was friendly and had a brain.
"I've been loving it. Its been great. Today I just walked around the Old City again and wanted to try and see the other side before I have to leave next week. Its been amazing though and I've been visiting my family and staying in Ramallah." I replied.
"Oh nice. I've been staying in a hostel in the Old City. It's nice. I was on my way over since we leave tomorrow and are leaving very late in the night to get to the airport." I said motioning to the stoned walls to left. "Are you sure you don't want to get a drink?" He asked again. We were talking anyway and the most I felt like in the moment was water anyway.
"You know what, why not? We're talking anyway. But I just have a little bit of time, so that I can try and see some other things today." I said as we walked up the steps.
"No problem. Let's just go close to here." He said as we walked.
We ended up going right across the street from the Old City to this little place that had a few small store on the bottom and a restaurant on the top. I got water and he got a pepermint tea. See, wasn't that kind of drink. We talked about the politics of the country and what was going on with the Olive Trees. I told him about my family's trees. He told me about some people he tried to help with an organization that helps Palestinians with their trees. He told me of soldiers and settlers who were saying racial slurs to folks from other countries who came to help the Palestinians pick their Olives. We talked about how most of the french didn't like thier new President because he was good friends with Bush. He had been to Palestine about 11 years before and he said it was even harder then to get around.
Michele use to be a Social Worker in france and turned into a farmer. He said he loved the land. He talked about wanting to help Palestinians more, but knowing that sometimes it was a powerless fight. He asked me about religion, about women's rights, and about being american and palestinian. We talked for an hour before I realized what time it was. He bought my water, even though I protested. He said he invited me and it was just water. We exchanged emails. He walked me to the corner and gave me a hug and a kiss on each cheek. I told him to have a safe flight in the morning and to email me soon.
I walked along the outside of the stone walls and passed the Rockefeller museum. I didn't feel compelled to go in, so I kept walking. I also didn't feel compelled to give them 30NIS (about $8). I kept moving down and followed the stone walls until there didn't seem to be anymore. There was a sign that pointed to the Western Wall. It seemed like a bitch of a sketchy entrance so I kept walking around down hill in the same direction, but following traffic. Off in the distance were hills and trees and the tops of churches. This HAD to be the Mt. of Olives. I wasn't sure if it was, but I had a feeling it was. I kept moving down the hill until there was another entrance for the western wall farther down along the hill. I walked up the other hill and made it up by the other entrance there. Before I went into the other gate to see, I saw an old Muslim cemetery and decided to go in a see it. I paid my respects at the entrance, walking in slowly, in case there were some crazy guards here just like by the Dome and Al-Aqsa.
No one was guards were in sight so I walked in. An older white man stood high on one of the tombs, taking pictures of the mountain across the road. Off in the distance, you could see the churches more clearly. One church had gold tops to it, round and then a pointy top. Another had a biblical painting on the front by large steps going down. This was where I needed to visit next! I walked around the cemetery, taking pictures of tombstones and of the view. The man walked down and towards me. He knew very few words in English. At first I wasn't sure if he was speaking Russian or not, but then he said he was Polish. He wanted me to take some pictures of him with the back round of the Mt. of Olives. I did just that and he did the same for me. He spoke to me in Polish, but some how we managed to communicate just fine. He was a very nice man. His name was Strofsky. I was surprised he addressed himself by his last name, but it was fine.
He was really happy with the way I took pictures of him with the back round and all. It was a nice day to meet people.
By the time I was done at the cemetery, it was a little after 5. I went towards the Western Wall, but I saw there was a church and the site where Mary was born. I wanted to visit it, but it was closing. It was getting dark and too late to visit any more for the day. I had seen a lot that day anyway. So I noted where everything was and made my way back over to the bus. It was a long walk back to the station anyway and I preferred to do it with the little bit of light I had.
Besides I need to get rest if I was going to climb the Mt of Olives the next day!
Friday, October 17, 2008
Jerusalem Day1 Part 2
There was so much to write about the first time and I was too tired to write it all down. So here is the rest of my first day in Jerusalem. I hope to have my second trip this coming week.
So yes, we met Marwan, who gave us an impromptu tour. We met him by the front, where the stone is that they washed Jesus on after he was crucified. People gathered around, touching the stone with their hands, their faces, their clothes, their crosses to bless themselves and cleanse their souls. People prayed around it as if it were their last hope. Young children, elderly women, all crouched by the stone just to get a chance to touch it. To perhaps get close to the skin of Jesus.
After we walked around the stone, we made our way around the corner and down the steps to where Helena, Constantine's Mothers, put the old columns from the church that was there before together. This was also the place where she found half of the cross that they used to crucify Jesus.
We walked into an even lower level of the church where there was a statue of Helena high above on the wall, above the actual spot where she found part of the cross. The cross is now in Rome. We made our way all the way back upstairs, to the very top where all these gold crosses and candle holders and pictures are. In between these things is where they Jesus spent another one of his last moments. People lined up far along the wall to be able to kiss this part of the shrine.
We made our way back downstairs and around the corner to the tomb where Jesus was buried and resurrected. Hundreds of people gathered here all lined up to be able to go inside with candles and touch the insides of the tomb and see where Jesus laid. An amazing amount of candles were around the tomb. All the while Marwan, tells me to watch my step, to look this way and that, about the history of Jesus and even of Mohammad simply because I speak English and young Americans are supposed to be stupid. I take no offense though. I keep nodding and smiling, listening with great attention. Waiting to hear something I don't know. But alas. A miracle has a occurred. I'm not a stupid American. He's shocked at what I know about Islam and Christianity. He smiles and taps his cane.
"Eman, you are a good woman. It was very nice to meet you." He smiles again, his head slanting to the side so that he can hear better. Sun spots, freckle the side of the his face. Gray hairs twirl out of his ears. The distant memory of a once handsome man is hidden under wrinkles and giant balls of dead skin. He holds on to my arm as we walk.
"Thank you for showing us all of this. It's really beautiful. It was really great to meet you as well," I replied as I look back to my Aunt Maha who is all giggles. She holds 20 shekels for him, waiting to run out of the church as fast as we can. We can't even remember how we got this tour in the first place. My aunt walks around the last column to give him the money and holds onto my arm to leave. He salutes us.
"Asalam......" he begins as he walks into the crowd and gets lost in the massive wave of German tourists. I turn and look up at the ceiling. I knew something was up there and could feel it. I held my breath and exhaled into a smile. A giant picture of their version of Jesus is on the circular ceiling with apostles all around the outer part of the circle. I try to get the whole scene into focus on my camera. But the whole moment is so dizzying, so amazing. I snapped a few pictures, trying to get as much as I can. My aunt calls my name. She's very ready to leave.
We turned to leave the Church, passing the tomb, passing the stone and heading for the front door. Greek nuns lined up by the stone, waiting to touch it. One looked at me as if she knows me. Our eyes lock. I walked towards the door. Her brown eyebrows arched up in surprise. Maybe I looked like someone she use to know. My Aunt touches my arm. I looked away towards the door and didn't have the courage to look back again at the Nun as we went outside.
We made our way down the cobbled street back towards Al Aqsa a.k.a. The Dome of the Rock. I figured we were going to the non-muslim section, but she refused to take me there. To her, to the family, I'm a muslim. No matter what I practice or how I look. If your father is a muslim, then so are you. I suppose I shouldn't take kindly either to folks who are trying to tell me what I am and am not. And I don't. We hit up several other spots on the way.
In Part 1 I went into it, I don't know if I need to again.
It's nothing new to have folks around you telling you that you aren't enough of X. Being here has shown me that within the community itself, some folks do just step in line, so that they make sure they are enough (or SEEM to be enough) of whatever it is folks are down with. I can't knock on folks for that. Who wants to be isolated and picked on? At the same time though, don't, in your quest for fitting in, try to isolate others who rather be themselves and keep it moving. What does it do for a person to make someone else feel bad about themselves anyway? Does it give someone who is already powerless more power? Perhaps. Or maybe just being out of the poking eyes of those who judge for a moment to put the attention on someone who doesn't seem to be with in the crowd, seems appealing. Who knows?
I know I'm vague, but I'm gonna leave it at that.
Anyway, my aunt got me this hideous (even though she called it beautiful) make-shift hijab and skirt. It was in a package and at first I thought she was buying a day dress for the house. A white cotton fabric with pink flowers all over it. Ick! But hey, if she wanted it for her, then beautiful! Thats fine with me.
We walked about some more on some of the smaller streets and looked at the deals and at the tourists. The streets go from wide cobbled streets to very narrow and uneven and at a slant. Steps start and end, slopes for carts appear, and every now and then a stone is has been made slick with time and has no grip. But along the way, I see people from everywhere. Hear tongues that I hear daily in NY. German, Greek, Spanish, Italian, Brazilian, English, Japanese. I knew that there were a lot of people who came to see Jerusalem, but I was amazed to see just how many folks from all those countries and probably more, came.
As we went along another winding road, she stops to check out a new pursue and I notice a coins accompanied by stones and jewels. I take a look see. Beautiful necklaces and earrings like a friend of mine in NY makes with old Palestinian coins with writing in Arabic. The shop keeper was a nice old man who wanted to show me everything he had. I wondered if he got anyone in the store that day. He seemed over excited, waiting and ready for me to buy anything and everything I could afford. Of course I saw several things that peaked my interest, but I kept it simple. It's not like I'm a baller anyway. A necklace and earrings for me and my sister.
My aunt got her purse. A very simple, economical, can pack everything and then some that she needs in it, kind of bag. She came in the store to meet me and thought the necklace was nice, but plain. They like bright colors here, I've noticed. Shiny fake diamonds for little girls with bright pink feather hair things and bracelets. It's cute on them. But I don't think thats really my stilo. She put the white and pink flowered outfit in a bag and we kept walking.
(on a side note once I finally got my luggage, my cousin Shyma, said I had too many dark clothes and that I needed color. I said I had as much color as I wanted and see, dark blue, dark purple, dark red. Those are colors. She laughed and said that wasn't colorful enough. I pointed behind her at a burnt orange skirt I have and she said, thats only ONE thing that isn't dark here. She laughed and got pulled away by her little son. I shrugged. I'm not a bright pink kind of girl. Sorry)
We walked about some more, passing shops that had more blue evil eyes than I have ever seen together in my life. We buy several for key chains and keep it moving. There are young men sitting around outside of shops, listening in on conversations, waiting to pull folks in to get them into the stores. To see anything, everything. Just to buy something. I suppose once October is over, it's slow. I suppose maybe they are bored. Who knows.
By now my feet are screaming. My feet just don't like these weird sized European sneakers. A 41 just isn't the same as the 10's I wear. Just aint working. And it didn't. My the end of the day, my pink toes had blisters on them from all the walking. Maybe it's also because they were new and I'd only worn them once before. Maybe. Hey, my feet get hot. I like my flip flops in this weather. But Jerusalem calls for sneakers.
On another funny side note though, ALLLLL the women wear high heeled sandals all the time. Maybe thats another reason I get looked at. I don't ever wear high heeled sandals. It would never occur to me to wear those kinds of shoes on cobbled streets. You know, I might wear a small heel if I wanted to be fancy, BUT REALLY? Seriously? High heeled sandals all the time. The women are short is what it is. I'm not abnormally tall or anything, but I'm taller than everyone else I've met. Except for one cousin, who was built pretty sturdy all around and super nice. She was my height and wearing flats. Everyone else though is very small. You were right, Nihaya. It's these African genes of mine that have me much bigger. But then again, I do have female cousins who are tall. Not many, but a few. Maybe it's because many of the men are tall. My dad was around 6ft.
We walked along. People watched. Shop watched. Rested my Aunts high heel sandaled feet. We then came across the Via Dolorosa, which is where Jesus walked and carried his cross to be crucified. By the beginning of the walk, a German film crew films a host. Not sure what show it was for, but he crouched down, putting his hands flat on the ground, to touch the stones Jesus may have placed his feet upon. Tourists huddled close to one another near the crew. They looked on along the road as a tour guide spoke, lifting his hands in the air, putting on a fantastic show of his knowledge. As if everyone in the group had never heard the story before. But their eyes were wide, opened with wonder and excitement at the story he told. I couldn't hear clear enough to hear what language he spoke, but I was dazzled a bit by his energy in telling them of Jesus' last hours.
We walked along the Via Dolorosa. The street arched up, stones higher in some places, stones slicked down in others. We were both tired from being in the sun all day. I wished we had bought another bottle of water before the walk. Bells ring in Jerusalem every 15 mins or so. I can't ever tell which direction they come from, but they're a constant reminder than we are in a Holy place.
We walked up the road slowly. I touched the stones along the walls. There are Armenian, German, Greek hostels scattered about. Shop keepers with cheese boards made of Olive tree oak. Little boys running around each other. Two old Russian couples walking slowly because the women decided to wear very high heels that day. A young mother with a cute little boy is walking next to us. She has short dirty blond hair. She wore a black hijab and a purple outfit. My aunt talks with the boy, then to his mother. She tells the woman about them not wanting to let me into the Muslim part of the mosque. The woman looks at me and rolls her eyes, as if to say, no kidding. I wore loose pants, a loose shirt. Showed no skin. Had a scarf ready to put on. But still. But still. I thought my aunt asked for the non-Muslim entrance, but she asked for an alternate entrance. We went around another corner and she handed me the white and pink flowered thing in the package.
"For you to wear." She points to a clear alley next to the corner we're turning down and motions for me to go put this on. At first I think it's a dress in the package, BUT it's a down to the bottoms of my feet skirt and a hijab with a hole for your head sewn in. I wish I could have gotten a picture of me wearing it, just to burn it later. I looked like a damn fool.
Once everything was on, my aunt smiled.
"Beautiful." She smiled harder.
I frowned harder. "I look Magnoon. Like a fool." I try to adjust the scarf. The opening for the head is too big for my face. Whose head is this fat for an opening so big? The top of my hair keeps showing. Hopefully they won't hold it against me.
We walk a little more nervous to the guards. They sit at the table, M-16's at their sides. I swallow hard and smile, trying to be convincing. My aunt speaks fast arabic to the soldier. She tells him I'm american and that my arabic isn't very good, but that I am a muslim and I do know the qu'ran. He asked for my passport and likes that my name is Arabic. But if you saw me, you wouldn't believe this get-up either.
"Can you recite anything from the Qu'ran?" He looks at my passport, looks at me and hands it back to me. I look up at his green eyes and smile a nervous smile.
"Bismillah Raham eh Raheem?" I tried not to have a nervous lilt to the end of my voice. I had to be confidence. "Bismillah he Ramham eh Raheem." He looked at me. I looked at him.
My aunt chimes in in the back round in Arabic. She says again that my arabic isn't good. My father was a good muslim but didn't teach me very good arabic, but I'm a good muslim too. I just want to see the mosque.
"Ok." He said and let us pass. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. She takes my arm. We both say Shurkan and keep it moving. The next guard inside says the greeting. We say it back and keep walking. He does a double take of me in my outfit, but says nothing.
We smile at each other as we walk down the tree lined road. She takes my camera out of the plastic bag she put it in and says to take pictures. I smile and say of course. I love my Aunt Maha. She's great!
I was fine with going through the non-muslim entrance of course. But she looked at it as disrespectful that they'd deny me so she wanted even more to get me in that way. I don't think God minded. Through all the rough times and temper tantrums, we've stayed on good terms.
We walked along the beautiful land. There were trees and green green grass across the lands before the Dome. Of in the distance, Non-muslims came in to see the sights. We walked across the lands and looked up at the Dome's massive form. She said a little prayer. I took pictures.
Tourist walked up along the steps. They looked at the dome, at me, at the dome, back at me. I adjusted the dumb scarf and took more pictures. The sun beat down hard on us as the day continued on. We walked down the steps and I snapped along. British teenagers look at me and giggle together. I'm tempted to flip them off, BUT then I realize that its not worth disrespecting such a holy place. I let it go and swallow my desire to bring the hood to Jerusalem.
We walk towards the Mosque and almost get in when one of the guards sitting outside stops us.
My aunt explains I'm muslim and I can go in and that we have the right.
"What's her name?" He asks in Arabic.
"Eman." She replies and tries to walk into the women's entrance with me to the mosque, which is below the male entrance.
"Where's your passport?" He turns to me and says in english.
I fish it out and hand it to him. He nods.
"A Rimawi. Very good. Just had to check." He said as he handed me back my passport.
He apologizes to my aunt and says that he just has to make sure since I'm clearly dressed in something that I hadn't been wearing long. I guess our 007 stint wasn't that good. Eh well. It got us that far.
We walked into the mosque and it was plainer than I was expecting. There aren't too many women in there. We took our shoes off and walked on the soft carpet. The air was cool and relaxing. It was so quiet. I could have napped there and felt completely safe. I felt at ease in this place. Books older than America line the wall. All Qu'rans. All religious. A few of the young girls walking in there looked at me. I stood out in height, in pink colors. My aunt and I sat down on the carpet for a while and rested. I sent an email from my crackberry to Dave as I sat on the floor of about parts of my day. I flexed my socked feet and toes into the carpet and took a breath in the cool air. I was so glad for my secret agent Aunt.
We walked back out in the sun to leave. Tourists mulled about. Guards hung out in the corner, watching. We left out of the non-muslim entrance near the Wailing Wall. I didn't get to see the wall. The guards looked us over a little. We walked up along the road, back to the cobbled streets and the shops. It was like a different world for a moment. All these stoned walls and streets all around us and then this opened aired beautiful quiet place with the Dome and the Mosque and the streets and the grass. Then back to the stones. Was very surreal. As we made our way up the road I asked my aunt if I could take off the scarf and skirt set since I was so hot. As we walked, I shed the scarf and skirt and fanned myself with them. She laughed, saying the guards were looking. Oops. Oh well. The next time I go back, I'll skip the hassle and 21 questions and go through the non-muslim entrance. I know who I am. I don't need to pass the 1 drop test for them or anyone else. I know who I am. And God knows who I am too. Thats more than enough for me.
We walked along the road, up up up, back through the stones. It's so crowded everywhere you walk. Along this road, there's not enough space for all these people, but we manage. My aunt doesn't want to lose me. I'm capable of finding my way, but they worry. Family always worries. I'm a woman, in Palestine, with "western" clothes, who doesn't speak good enough arabic for their standards. They worry.
We walked along the road and saw more shops. I passed by a shop that sold all kinds of beautiful plates with all kinds of designs. I wanted to buy some plates but worried about them being broken in my luggage. I plan on going back to the shop though.
We made our way back near the front entrance of the Old City and climbed the steep hill to exit. I would have sacrificed my tiredness to see more, but my aunt needed to rest and a person just CAN'T see all of Jerusalem in one day. It's just too much walking.
I'd like to go back this coming week. I hope I can.
We walked to the bus station. I was chaotic and loud. We were too tired to care. We got on a bus to Ramallah and quietly road along. I tried not to doze off. My aunt fell in and out of sleep. I watched the roads and streets, committing them to memory for later. It was almost 3pm as the sun sleepily rocked lower in the sky. The sun is completely set here by around 5:45-6pm. I think it's Octobers sun, but maybe it's all the time. It rises so early here too.
We sat, resting our bodies as we road back to the house.
My first day in Jerusalem was amazing.
She asked me, "Are you happy?"
I smiled and said, "Yes, I was very very happy."
Thats all I needed to say.
So yes, we met Marwan, who gave us an impromptu tour. We met him by the front, where the stone is that they washed Jesus on after he was crucified. People gathered around, touching the stone with their hands, their faces, their clothes, their crosses to bless themselves and cleanse their souls. People prayed around it as if it were their last hope. Young children, elderly women, all crouched by the stone just to get a chance to touch it. To perhaps get close to the skin of Jesus.
After we walked around the stone, we made our way around the corner and down the steps to where Helena, Constantine's Mothers, put the old columns from the church that was there before together. This was also the place where she found half of the cross that they used to crucify Jesus.
We walked into an even lower level of the church where there was a statue of Helena high above on the wall, above the actual spot where she found part of the cross. The cross is now in Rome. We made our way all the way back upstairs, to the very top where all these gold crosses and candle holders and pictures are. In between these things is where they Jesus spent another one of his last moments. People lined up far along the wall to be able to kiss this part of the shrine.
We made our way back downstairs and around the corner to the tomb where Jesus was buried and resurrected. Hundreds of people gathered here all lined up to be able to go inside with candles and touch the insides of the tomb and see where Jesus laid. An amazing amount of candles were around the tomb. All the while Marwan, tells me to watch my step, to look this way and that, about the history of Jesus and even of Mohammad simply because I speak English and young Americans are supposed to be stupid. I take no offense though. I keep nodding and smiling, listening with great attention. Waiting to hear something I don't know. But alas. A miracle has a occurred. I'm not a stupid American. He's shocked at what I know about Islam and Christianity. He smiles and taps his cane.
"Eman, you are a good woman. It was very nice to meet you." He smiles again, his head slanting to the side so that he can hear better. Sun spots, freckle the side of the his face. Gray hairs twirl out of his ears. The distant memory of a once handsome man is hidden under wrinkles and giant balls of dead skin. He holds on to my arm as we walk.
"Thank you for showing us all of this. It's really beautiful. It was really great to meet you as well," I replied as I look back to my Aunt Maha who is all giggles. She holds 20 shekels for him, waiting to run out of the church as fast as we can. We can't even remember how we got this tour in the first place. My aunt walks around the last column to give him the money and holds onto my arm to leave. He salutes us.
"Asalam......" he begins as he walks into the crowd and gets lost in the massive wave of German tourists. I turn and look up at the ceiling. I knew something was up there and could feel it. I held my breath and exhaled into a smile. A giant picture of their version of Jesus is on the circular ceiling with apostles all around the outer part of the circle. I try to get the whole scene into focus on my camera. But the whole moment is so dizzying, so amazing. I snapped a few pictures, trying to get as much as I can. My aunt calls my name. She's very ready to leave.
We turned to leave the Church, passing the tomb, passing the stone and heading for the front door. Greek nuns lined up by the stone, waiting to touch it. One looked at me as if she knows me. Our eyes lock. I walked towards the door. Her brown eyebrows arched up in surprise. Maybe I looked like someone she use to know. My Aunt touches my arm. I looked away towards the door and didn't have the courage to look back again at the Nun as we went outside.
We made our way down the cobbled street back towards Al Aqsa a.k.a. The Dome of the Rock. I figured we were going to the non-muslim section, but she refused to take me there. To her, to the family, I'm a muslim. No matter what I practice or how I look. If your father is a muslim, then so are you. I suppose I shouldn't take kindly either to folks who are trying to tell me what I am and am not. And I don't. We hit up several other spots on the way.
In Part 1 I went into it, I don't know if I need to again.
It's nothing new to have folks around you telling you that you aren't enough of X. Being here has shown me that within the community itself, some folks do just step in line, so that they make sure they are enough (or SEEM to be enough) of whatever it is folks are down with. I can't knock on folks for that. Who wants to be isolated and picked on? At the same time though, don't, in your quest for fitting in, try to isolate others who rather be themselves and keep it moving. What does it do for a person to make someone else feel bad about themselves anyway? Does it give someone who is already powerless more power? Perhaps. Or maybe just being out of the poking eyes of those who judge for a moment to put the attention on someone who doesn't seem to be with in the crowd, seems appealing. Who knows?
I know I'm vague, but I'm gonna leave it at that.
Anyway, my aunt got me this hideous (even though she called it beautiful) make-shift hijab and skirt. It was in a package and at first I thought she was buying a day dress for the house. A white cotton fabric with pink flowers all over it. Ick! But hey, if she wanted it for her, then beautiful! Thats fine with me.
We walked about some more on some of the smaller streets and looked at the deals and at the tourists. The streets go from wide cobbled streets to very narrow and uneven and at a slant. Steps start and end, slopes for carts appear, and every now and then a stone is has been made slick with time and has no grip. But along the way, I see people from everywhere. Hear tongues that I hear daily in NY. German, Greek, Spanish, Italian, Brazilian, English, Japanese. I knew that there were a lot of people who came to see Jerusalem, but I was amazed to see just how many folks from all those countries and probably more, came.
As we went along another winding road, she stops to check out a new pursue and I notice a coins accompanied by stones and jewels. I take a look see. Beautiful necklaces and earrings like a friend of mine in NY makes with old Palestinian coins with writing in Arabic. The shop keeper was a nice old man who wanted to show me everything he had. I wondered if he got anyone in the store that day. He seemed over excited, waiting and ready for me to buy anything and everything I could afford. Of course I saw several things that peaked my interest, but I kept it simple. It's not like I'm a baller anyway. A necklace and earrings for me and my sister.
My aunt got her purse. A very simple, economical, can pack everything and then some that she needs in it, kind of bag. She came in the store to meet me and thought the necklace was nice, but plain. They like bright colors here, I've noticed. Shiny fake diamonds for little girls with bright pink feather hair things and bracelets. It's cute on them. But I don't think thats really my stilo. She put the white and pink flowered outfit in a bag and we kept walking.
(on a side note once I finally got my luggage, my cousin Shyma, said I had too many dark clothes and that I needed color. I said I had as much color as I wanted and see, dark blue, dark purple, dark red. Those are colors. She laughed and said that wasn't colorful enough. I pointed behind her at a burnt orange skirt I have and she said, thats only ONE thing that isn't dark here. She laughed and got pulled away by her little son. I shrugged. I'm not a bright pink kind of girl. Sorry)
We walked about some more, passing shops that had more blue evil eyes than I have ever seen together in my life. We buy several for key chains and keep it moving. There are young men sitting around outside of shops, listening in on conversations, waiting to pull folks in to get them into the stores. To see anything, everything. Just to buy something. I suppose once October is over, it's slow. I suppose maybe they are bored. Who knows.
By now my feet are screaming. My feet just don't like these weird sized European sneakers. A 41 just isn't the same as the 10's I wear. Just aint working. And it didn't. My the end of the day, my pink toes had blisters on them from all the walking. Maybe it's also because they were new and I'd only worn them once before. Maybe. Hey, my feet get hot. I like my flip flops in this weather. But Jerusalem calls for sneakers.
On another funny side note though, ALLLLL the women wear high heeled sandals all the time. Maybe thats another reason I get looked at. I don't ever wear high heeled sandals. It would never occur to me to wear those kinds of shoes on cobbled streets. You know, I might wear a small heel if I wanted to be fancy, BUT REALLY? Seriously? High heeled sandals all the time. The women are short is what it is. I'm not abnormally tall or anything, but I'm taller than everyone else I've met. Except for one cousin, who was built pretty sturdy all around and super nice. She was my height and wearing flats. Everyone else though is very small. You were right, Nihaya. It's these African genes of mine that have me much bigger. But then again, I do have female cousins who are tall. Not many, but a few. Maybe it's because many of the men are tall. My dad was around 6ft.
We walked along. People watched. Shop watched. Rested my Aunts high heel sandaled feet. We then came across the Via Dolorosa, which is where Jesus walked and carried his cross to be crucified. By the beginning of the walk, a German film crew films a host. Not sure what show it was for, but he crouched down, putting his hands flat on the ground, to touch the stones Jesus may have placed his feet upon. Tourists huddled close to one another near the crew. They looked on along the road as a tour guide spoke, lifting his hands in the air, putting on a fantastic show of his knowledge. As if everyone in the group had never heard the story before. But their eyes were wide, opened with wonder and excitement at the story he told. I couldn't hear clear enough to hear what language he spoke, but I was dazzled a bit by his energy in telling them of Jesus' last hours.
We walked along the Via Dolorosa. The street arched up, stones higher in some places, stones slicked down in others. We were both tired from being in the sun all day. I wished we had bought another bottle of water before the walk. Bells ring in Jerusalem every 15 mins or so. I can't ever tell which direction they come from, but they're a constant reminder than we are in a Holy place.
We walked up the road slowly. I touched the stones along the walls. There are Armenian, German, Greek hostels scattered about. Shop keepers with cheese boards made of Olive tree oak. Little boys running around each other. Two old Russian couples walking slowly because the women decided to wear very high heels that day. A young mother with a cute little boy is walking next to us. She has short dirty blond hair. She wore a black hijab and a purple outfit. My aunt talks with the boy, then to his mother. She tells the woman about them not wanting to let me into the Muslim part of the mosque. The woman looks at me and rolls her eyes, as if to say, no kidding. I wore loose pants, a loose shirt. Showed no skin. Had a scarf ready to put on. But still. But still. I thought my aunt asked for the non-Muslim entrance, but she asked for an alternate entrance. We went around another corner and she handed me the white and pink flowered thing in the package.
"For you to wear." She points to a clear alley next to the corner we're turning down and motions for me to go put this on. At first I think it's a dress in the package, BUT it's a down to the bottoms of my feet skirt and a hijab with a hole for your head sewn in. I wish I could have gotten a picture of me wearing it, just to burn it later. I looked like a damn fool.
Once everything was on, my aunt smiled.
"Beautiful." She smiled harder.
I frowned harder. "I look Magnoon. Like a fool." I try to adjust the scarf. The opening for the head is too big for my face. Whose head is this fat for an opening so big? The top of my hair keeps showing. Hopefully they won't hold it against me.
We walk a little more nervous to the guards. They sit at the table, M-16's at their sides. I swallow hard and smile, trying to be convincing. My aunt speaks fast arabic to the soldier. She tells him I'm american and that my arabic isn't very good, but that I am a muslim and I do know the qu'ran. He asked for my passport and likes that my name is Arabic. But if you saw me, you wouldn't believe this get-up either.
"Can you recite anything from the Qu'ran?" He looks at my passport, looks at me and hands it back to me. I look up at his green eyes and smile a nervous smile.
"Bismillah Raham eh Raheem?" I tried not to have a nervous lilt to the end of my voice. I had to be confidence. "Bismillah he Ramham eh Raheem." He looked at me. I looked at him.
My aunt chimes in in the back round in Arabic. She says again that my arabic isn't good. My father was a good muslim but didn't teach me very good arabic, but I'm a good muslim too. I just want to see the mosque.
"Ok." He said and let us pass. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. She takes my arm. We both say Shurkan and keep it moving. The next guard inside says the greeting. We say it back and keep walking. He does a double take of me in my outfit, but says nothing.
We smile at each other as we walk down the tree lined road. She takes my camera out of the plastic bag she put it in and says to take pictures. I smile and say of course. I love my Aunt Maha. She's great!
I was fine with going through the non-muslim entrance of course. But she looked at it as disrespectful that they'd deny me so she wanted even more to get me in that way. I don't think God minded. Through all the rough times and temper tantrums, we've stayed on good terms.
We walked along the beautiful land. There were trees and green green grass across the lands before the Dome. Of in the distance, Non-muslims came in to see the sights. We walked across the lands and looked up at the Dome's massive form. She said a little prayer. I took pictures.
Tourist walked up along the steps. They looked at the dome, at me, at the dome, back at me. I adjusted the dumb scarf and took more pictures. The sun beat down hard on us as the day continued on. We walked down the steps and I snapped along. British teenagers look at me and giggle together. I'm tempted to flip them off, BUT then I realize that its not worth disrespecting such a holy place. I let it go and swallow my desire to bring the hood to Jerusalem.
We walk towards the Mosque and almost get in when one of the guards sitting outside stops us.
My aunt explains I'm muslim and I can go in and that we have the right.
"What's her name?" He asks in Arabic.
"Eman." She replies and tries to walk into the women's entrance with me to the mosque, which is below the male entrance.
"Where's your passport?" He turns to me and says in english.
I fish it out and hand it to him. He nods.
"A Rimawi. Very good. Just had to check." He said as he handed me back my passport.
He apologizes to my aunt and says that he just has to make sure since I'm clearly dressed in something that I hadn't been wearing long. I guess our 007 stint wasn't that good. Eh well. It got us that far.
We walked into the mosque and it was plainer than I was expecting. There aren't too many women in there. We took our shoes off and walked on the soft carpet. The air was cool and relaxing. It was so quiet. I could have napped there and felt completely safe. I felt at ease in this place. Books older than America line the wall. All Qu'rans. All religious. A few of the young girls walking in there looked at me. I stood out in height, in pink colors. My aunt and I sat down on the carpet for a while and rested. I sent an email from my crackberry to Dave as I sat on the floor of about parts of my day. I flexed my socked feet and toes into the carpet and took a breath in the cool air. I was so glad for my secret agent Aunt.
We walked back out in the sun to leave. Tourists mulled about. Guards hung out in the corner, watching. We left out of the non-muslim entrance near the Wailing Wall. I didn't get to see the wall. The guards looked us over a little. We walked up along the road, back to the cobbled streets and the shops. It was like a different world for a moment. All these stoned walls and streets all around us and then this opened aired beautiful quiet place with the Dome and the Mosque and the streets and the grass. Then back to the stones. Was very surreal. As we made our way up the road I asked my aunt if I could take off the scarf and skirt set since I was so hot. As we walked, I shed the scarf and skirt and fanned myself with them. She laughed, saying the guards were looking. Oops. Oh well. The next time I go back, I'll skip the hassle and 21 questions and go through the non-muslim entrance. I know who I am. I don't need to pass the 1 drop test for them or anyone else. I know who I am. And God knows who I am too. Thats more than enough for me.
We walked along the road, up up up, back through the stones. It's so crowded everywhere you walk. Along this road, there's not enough space for all these people, but we manage. My aunt doesn't want to lose me. I'm capable of finding my way, but they worry. Family always worries. I'm a woman, in Palestine, with "western" clothes, who doesn't speak good enough arabic for their standards. They worry.
We walked along the road and saw more shops. I passed by a shop that sold all kinds of beautiful plates with all kinds of designs. I wanted to buy some plates but worried about them being broken in my luggage. I plan on going back to the shop though.
We made our way back near the front entrance of the Old City and climbed the steep hill to exit. I would have sacrificed my tiredness to see more, but my aunt needed to rest and a person just CAN'T see all of Jerusalem in one day. It's just too much walking.
I'd like to go back this coming week. I hope I can.
We walked to the bus station. I was chaotic and loud. We were too tired to care. We got on a bus to Ramallah and quietly road along. I tried not to doze off. My aunt fell in and out of sleep. I watched the roads and streets, committing them to memory for later. It was almost 3pm as the sun sleepily rocked lower in the sky. The sun is completely set here by around 5:45-6pm. I think it's Octobers sun, but maybe it's all the time. It rises so early here too.
We sat, resting our bodies as we road back to the house.
My first day in Jerusalem was amazing.
She asked me, "Are you happy?"
I smiled and said, "Yes, I was very very happy."
Thats all I needed to say.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Palestine smells like home Part 2
I feel safe here. I'm not sure why this overwhelming sense of peace and calm is in me now, but it is. In NYC, I've been having trouble sleeping, having trouble feeling safe. I just don't feel the safety I use to feel for some reason. It's not all the time, but some times at night I've gotten super paranoid. Why? I don't know. Maybe it's living alone that set in, even though I like living alone. Or maybe being single, even though it doesn't bother me too much some of the time. Maybe letting go of things of the past and moving on has left me raw and opened and vulnerable feeling and so for the moment, I don't feel safe all the time.
But it feels different now. I feel better. Fell safer. Feel at ease. Feel at home. In Palestine.
I've finally been able to sleep. I don't feel paranoid. I don't feel like someone's going to come and get me in my sleep, or when I relax or am alone. I feel safe. Maybe being surrounded by family and by people who have been showing me so much love (albeit overwhelming), just so so much love.
Maybe. Or maybe just knowing that other people are in the house with me. But I've been in the house with others in NY and still not felt this ease. Still not felt this peace. I've never really had this problem on such a consistent level though. I've known situations were unsafe, but I haven't really felt heavy duty fear since I was a child. I always knew somehow that I'd be ok. And before I came here, I felt that safety gone.
But now....
My heart doesn't race at night. I don't check if the door is locked and secure a bunch of times. I don't jump at every noise. I feel safe.
Maybe because I feel like I'm at home. Maybe I've finally come home.
I like the idea of Palestine being home
But it feels different now. I feel better. Fell safer. Feel at ease. Feel at home. In Palestine.
I've finally been able to sleep. I don't feel paranoid. I don't feel like someone's going to come and get me in my sleep, or when I relax or am alone. I feel safe. Maybe being surrounded by family and by people who have been showing me so much love (albeit overwhelming), just so so much love.
Maybe. Or maybe just knowing that other people are in the house with me. But I've been in the house with others in NY and still not felt this ease. Still not felt this peace. I've never really had this problem on such a consistent level though. I've known situations were unsafe, but I haven't really felt heavy duty fear since I was a child. I always knew somehow that I'd be ok. And before I came here, I felt that safety gone.
But now....
My heart doesn't race at night. I don't check if the door is locked and secure a bunch of times. I don't jump at every noise. I feel safe.
Maybe because I feel like I'm at home. Maybe I've finally come home.
I like the idea of Palestine being home
Uncle Nasser
My Uncle Nasser is 43. He smokes like a chimney night and day. He's one of my father's younger brothers. He has 6 children ranging from 13-2 and his wife, Maha, 34, is tired and run down but loves being a wife and mother.
His face is always round and happy, even when he's mad. The eyebrows are what gives the mood away. The older he's gotten, the more he looks like my father. Same round face. Same mustache. Same round cheeks. Same chestnut wavy hair cut short. Same pretty eyes and long lashes. Same hearty laugh and jiggle of the belly when he laughs.
They were very much like brothers in their mannerisms and their looks.
His children Ola, Ala, Amer, Hibah, Tasneem and Mohammad are the perfect combination of Uncle Nasser and Aunt Maha. His daughters Ola, Hibah and Tasneem look very much alike and look a lot like my Uncle Thaer's daughters (he's the youngest of my dad's siblings). The older boys Ala and Amer look a lot like our other cousins sons looked when they were young boys. The baby Mohammad looks a lot like my dad looked as a toddler.
Like in my Aunt Haifa's smile, I see the length of my brothers lashes, the roundness in my sisters cheeks, the heartiness of my laugh, in my uncle. And when I see those things in him, I also see them in my father and it helps me to be closer to him.
His face is always round and happy, even when he's mad. The eyebrows are what gives the mood away. The older he's gotten, the more he looks like my father. Same round face. Same mustache. Same round cheeks. Same chestnut wavy hair cut short. Same pretty eyes and long lashes. Same hearty laugh and jiggle of the belly when he laughs.
They were very much like brothers in their mannerisms and their looks.
His children Ola, Ala, Amer, Hibah, Tasneem and Mohammad are the perfect combination of Uncle Nasser and Aunt Maha. His daughters Ola, Hibah and Tasneem look very much alike and look a lot like my Uncle Thaer's daughters (he's the youngest of my dad's siblings). The older boys Ala and Amer look a lot like our other cousins sons looked when they were young boys. The baby Mohammad looks a lot like my dad looked as a toddler.
Like in my Aunt Haifa's smile, I see the length of my brothers lashes, the roundness in my sisters cheeks, the heartiness of my laugh, in my uncle. And when I see those things in him, I also see them in my father and it helps me to be closer to him.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Oct 6th: Inti Bait Firas
My Aunt Haifa, who is one of my father's older sisters, gave me several pictures of my father from when he was a teenager. In my entire life, I've only seen 2 pictures of my dad from his younger years that I can remember. One from when he was about 5 and the other from when he was around 16 or 17. Neither one was very clear. In this one, I look even more like him. It made me cry to see all these pictures and how happy he looked in so many of them. I miss his smile. But then again, when I smile, he is smiling. Yanni, Inti Bait Firas. I'm Firas's daughter.
Sat Oct 11th: From Beit Rima to Jericho
As we drove today along the road from Beit Rima to Jericho, these are some of the things that happened and that I saw. Ill probably add some pictures to this later since the bloggy thing is acting up. Or maybe its the slow wireless???
When the soldiers "advise" you to do something, that is not them giving you an option. "Advise" for them is another way of saying, "you better or else." Is that what Jesus would do?
They want any excuse to pull a trigger, stomp a stomach, to start trouble beause they are hot. Bored. Young. Ill-advised. Ready to start trouble because they are on top and the rest of us are not.
Sounds familiar. Sounds unfair. Sounds like the way things have been for a very long time.
School boys hitch rides on the sides of check points and highway lines, hoping taxi vans will take them home or at least close, for little or no shekels.
The women walk along. Adoring eyes the shapes of lemons. Almonds. Green Olives. Sweets they offer for lunch and dinner. Beauty fading around the edge of their face. Their children in tow. The memory of a figure. Of youth. Of the freedom of hair in the winds walks behind them, insulated in their shadows and now living in their daughters just to be lost again on their wedding nights.
Sweat gets caught on colorful hijabs that rest on the shoulders of black dresses that touch their ankles and the tops of their high heeled sandels. Night and day, "Yamma. Yamma. Yamma."
A never ending chant sung by their children. I wonder if any of them were forced to marry. I wonder if the wnted to wait to have their kids. I wonder if their lives would have been different if given a choice.
Of course many fo them go to school, have work, have careers. But their first obligation after God is their family. To be a wife and a mother. There's nothing wrong with that of coutrse. Nothing wrong with taking pride and loving being a wife and a mother. It's a beautiful thing. It's a wonderous thing. Without women, there would be no world. We bring life into this place.
I just wonder how many times a day they hear Shukran (thank you). I bet not once. Every mother I've met hears Shukran from me about 2 dozen times or more every time I see them for everything they do. I wonder if it'll make a difference. Maybe it has. Maybe I have.
Jericho was very beautiful to visit. We went to a Saint George Monastery first. It's in Jericho, but before the Old City, off to a little corner of land near the highway. It's entrance is wide and welcoming, shaded by tropical looking trees, vines full of flowers and the smell of those flowers in the air. Holy men and cab drivers sat on either side, drinking coffee and talking about God knows what very early in the morning.
When we got there, it was almost 9:30am. We entered the next entrance which is also outside as the sun shown above us. A a gray and blue parrot sat in a white cage to my left, speaking in a language I didn't understand. I think it was Greek since Saint George's is a Greek Catholic Church. A Greek flag hung above the entrance. Interpretive pictures of Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and a plethora of biblical characters hung along the stone walls. It smelled of those incense and candles only found in catholic churches. Like wood and earth and oil. To me it smelled like the Botanica's in NY. After all, they look up to the same Saints, right?
Off to the far left was the small entrance for the church. To the right was where you could buy all kinds of crosses and pictures of biblical folks. A woman with a thick accent spoke to us.
"Are you looking for the Church?" Her voice was soft, but heavy. Very Greek. I only know this because when I was in college there was a woman who was about 65 and going back to school who was from Greece and her voice sounded just like this.
"Yes." Was all I could think to say because I wasn't necessarily looking for anything. I was just looking at everything and anything. My uncle thought I might want to see the place and brought me.
"It's in there." She turned as she spoke, clicking her tongue at the parrot in its cage.
My aunt nodded and I went in first. It was very dark in comparison to the bright sunlight in the courtyard. Pictures hung everywhere (even on the ceiling) of the artists' versions of Jesus, Mary, Joseph, Apostles and more. Heavy clothes sat on the sides of the walls and the ceilings, made of what looked like velvet and silks and gold. I took pictures of EVERYTHING.
We walked about looking at the artistic strokes in each painting. All the soft colors, all the expressions on faces immortalized for all time. Opened to interpretation by all. These artists, I assume, painted these holy characters in their own images. In any event, they were beautiful.
Once we were done looking at everything there was to see in the small space of the church, we went back out into the courtyard. My aunt laughed at the parrots squawking talks. I don't think she could understand it either. We went over to the books, paintings and crucifixes hanging along the walls. They were all on sale. 5 shekels here, 7 there. Once again my uncle wouldn't let me pay for anything. He says I'm a guest and his niece and he is obligated to take care of anything I may want or need. I hope to one day return the favor for him. I guess he also figures he's been out of my life for the last 8 years and wants to make up for lost time. Or maybe I'm assuming.
Once we were done at the Monastery, we made our way over to the Old City in Jericho.
This is where larger than average people lived, warriors that defended their lands fiercely and befell tragedy by the hands of God for dissing one of his messengers who wanted to make peace and work with them. The land where the Old City is, they say, is 10,000 years old. And that's when they were shaken with an earth quake and more. Now the ruins show old signs of what houses use to be there and old pottery and bowls sitting about. This Old City is also where Jesus passed to get to the Mountain where the devil tempted him during his 40 fast. There you can ride a cable car above the land. We walked below because it was 3 shekels and cooler to see and touch everything in person. We didn't get up to the mountain though because it was too far and high. On the site where Jesus fasted is now a Church, just sitting on the side of the mountain. Almost looks superimposed or something.
Once we finished walking along the ruins in the hot morning sun, we went over to Hisham's Palace, where the king stayed during vacations to get the sun and heat of Jericho. The ruins are a bit more complete at the Palace but still so far gone. It's only been about a 1,000 year maybe a bit more said my uncle.
The air spoke in ancient tongue. A click and whisper on the wind, howling along the skin. A caress from a lovers lips. King Hisham's Palace lay in ruins. A distant memory of what is use to be. I find the ruins to be even more enchanting that the building itself use to be. I ran my hands along the ancient stones as I took pictures of the old place. It was built in the time of Prophet Mohammad and was the kings get away retreat.
We walked along the entire grounds, the children mesmerized by the sites of the large old stones and the sand they stood upon. I wonder if Mohammad and Tasmeen who are 2 and 4 will remember this later on. I hope so.
Similar to Jericho and Bethlehem, the oldness and history of the place tickles along your skin and jumps your heart a little. It's exciting. It's new. It's old. It's history that you can touch and taste and smell from hundreds of years ago. If you close your eyes after gazing upon all these things, you can almost hear the crackle of the fire, smell the sweet sweat of the guards, hear the hushed giggles of servant girls, catch the distant hum of a song on the lips and in the throat of a singer. You can almost catch yourself back in time, a treasured guest at the Kings Palace.
Once we left there, we headed of to the Oldest Tree in Jericho, where Jesus rested as he walked. The story is in the book of Luke. I took pictures, tried to avoid the German tourists who seemed to want to push folks out of the way and gazed up at the sun through the leaves of this beautiful tree.
We tried to leave right away, but the battery for our car died. That's not a fun situation with a 2,4,5, and 12 year old in the car. My uncle ran around and finally found some jumper cables and got the car started an hour later. We drove about, looking for falafel and then later on that afternoon I got dropped back here at my Aunt Haifa's house in time for the wedding Sunday.
I started out at my Aunts house in Ramallah and made my way over to my Uncle Nasser's house
in Beit Rima which is about 20mins away. His kids, wife and my grandfather live there in a
beautiful little house with a view of Tel Aviv, the dead sea and the entire mountainous
landscape. A couple days after that, I visited the enchanting and holy Bethlehem and went
to the Basilica where Jesus was born. Everything in there was made of gold. The next day
we made our way to Jericho. We wanted to visit the Dead Sea, but they close off the beach
for West Bank Palestinians that day so my uncle (who was driving) couldn't get in.
So off to Jericho we went.
in Beit Rima which is about 20mins away. His kids, wife and my grandfather live there in a
beautiful little house with a view of Tel Aviv, the dead sea and the entire mountainous
landscape. A couple days after that, I visited the enchanting and holy Bethlehem and went
to the Basilica where Jesus was born. Everything in there was made of gold. The next day
we made our way to Jericho. We wanted to visit the Dead Sea, but they close off the beach
for West Bank Palestinians that day so my uncle (who was driving) couldn't get in.
So off to Jericho we went.
When the soldiers "advise" you to do something, that is not them giving you an option. "Advise" for them is another way of saying, "you better or else." Is that what Jesus would do?
They want any excuse to pull a trigger, stomp a stomach, to start trouble beause they are hot. Bored. Young. Ill-advised. Ready to start trouble because they are on top and the rest of us are not.
Sounds familiar. Sounds unfair. Sounds like the way things have been for a very long time.
School boys hitch rides on the sides of check points and highway lines, hoping taxi vans will take them home or at least close, for little or no shekels.
The women walk along. Adoring eyes the shapes of lemons. Almonds. Green Olives. Sweets they offer for lunch and dinner. Beauty fading around the edge of their face. Their children in tow. The memory of a figure. Of youth. Of the freedom of hair in the winds walks behind them, insulated in their shadows and now living in their daughters just to be lost again on their wedding nights.
Sweat gets caught on colorful hijabs that rest on the shoulders of black dresses that touch their ankles and the tops of their high heeled sandels. Night and day, "Yamma. Yamma. Yamma."
A never ending chant sung by their children. I wonder if any of them were forced to marry. I wonder if the wnted to wait to have their kids. I wonder if their lives would have been different if given a choice.
Of course many fo them go to school, have work, have careers. But their first obligation after God is their family. To be a wife and a mother. There's nothing wrong with that of coutrse. Nothing wrong with taking pride and loving being a wife and a mother. It's a beautiful thing. It's a wonderous thing. Without women, there would be no world. We bring life into this place.
I just wonder how many times a day they hear Shukran (thank you). I bet not once. Every mother I've met hears Shukran from me about 2 dozen times or more every time I see them for everything they do. I wonder if it'll make a difference. Maybe it has. Maybe I have.
Jericho was very beautiful to visit. We went to a Saint George Monastery first. It's in Jericho, but before the Old City, off to a little corner of land near the highway. It's entrance is wide and welcoming, shaded by tropical looking trees, vines full of flowers and the smell of those flowers in the air. Holy men and cab drivers sat on either side, drinking coffee and talking about God knows what very early in the morning.
When we got there, it was almost 9:30am. We entered the next entrance which is also outside as the sun shown above us. A a gray and blue parrot sat in a white cage to my left, speaking in a language I didn't understand. I think it was Greek since Saint George's is a Greek Catholic Church. A Greek flag hung above the entrance. Interpretive pictures of Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and a plethora of biblical characters hung along the stone walls. It smelled of those incense and candles only found in catholic churches. Like wood and earth and oil. To me it smelled like the Botanica's in NY. After all, they look up to the same Saints, right?
Off to the far left was the small entrance for the church. To the right was where you could buy all kinds of crosses and pictures of biblical folks. A woman with a thick accent spoke to us.
"Are you looking for the Church?" Her voice was soft, but heavy. Very Greek. I only know this because when I was in college there was a woman who was about 65 and going back to school who was from Greece and her voice sounded just like this.
"Yes." Was all I could think to say because I wasn't necessarily looking for anything. I was just looking at everything and anything. My uncle thought I might want to see the place and brought me.
"It's in there." She turned as she spoke, clicking her tongue at the parrot in its cage.
My aunt nodded and I went in first. It was very dark in comparison to the bright sunlight in the courtyard. Pictures hung everywhere (even on the ceiling) of the artists' versions of Jesus, Mary, Joseph, Apostles and more. Heavy clothes sat on the sides of the walls and the ceilings, made of what looked like velvet and silks and gold. I took pictures of EVERYTHING.
We walked about looking at the artistic strokes in each painting. All the soft colors, all the expressions on faces immortalized for all time. Opened to interpretation by all. These artists, I assume, painted these holy characters in their own images. In any event, they were beautiful.
Once we were done looking at everything there was to see in the small space of the church, we went back out into the courtyard. My aunt laughed at the parrots squawking talks. I don't think she could understand it either. We went over to the books, paintings and crucifixes hanging along the walls. They were all on sale. 5 shekels here, 7 there. Once again my uncle wouldn't let me pay for anything. He says I'm a guest and his niece and he is obligated to take care of anything I may want or need. I hope to one day return the favor for him. I guess he also figures he's been out of my life for the last 8 years and wants to make up for lost time. Or maybe I'm assuming.
Once we were done at the Monastery, we made our way over to the Old City in Jericho.
This is where larger than average people lived, warriors that defended their lands fiercely and befell tragedy by the hands of God for dissing one of his messengers who wanted to make peace and work with them. The land where the Old City is, they say, is 10,000 years old. And that's when they were shaken with an earth quake and more. Now the ruins show old signs of what houses use to be there and old pottery and bowls sitting about. This Old City is also where Jesus passed to get to the Mountain where the devil tempted him during his 40 fast. There you can ride a cable car above the land. We walked below because it was 3 shekels and cooler to see and touch everything in person. We didn't get up to the mountain though because it was too far and high. On the site where Jesus fasted is now a Church, just sitting on the side of the mountain. Almost looks superimposed or something.
Once we finished walking along the ruins in the hot morning sun, we went over to Hisham's Palace, where the king stayed during vacations to get the sun and heat of Jericho. The ruins are a bit more complete at the Palace but still so far gone. It's only been about a 1,000 year maybe a bit more said my uncle.
The air spoke in ancient tongue. A click and whisper on the wind, howling along the skin. A caress from a lovers lips. King Hisham's Palace lay in ruins. A distant memory of what is use to be. I find the ruins to be even more enchanting that the building itself use to be. I ran my hands along the ancient stones as I took pictures of the old place. It was built in the time of Prophet Mohammad and was the kings get away retreat.
We walked along the entire grounds, the children mesmerized by the sites of the large old stones and the sand they stood upon. I wonder if Mohammad and Tasmeen who are 2 and 4 will remember this later on. I hope so.
Similar to Jericho and Bethlehem, the oldness and history of the place tickles along your skin and jumps your heart a little. It's exciting. It's new. It's old. It's history that you can touch and taste and smell from hundreds of years ago. If you close your eyes after gazing upon all these things, you can almost hear the crackle of the fire, smell the sweet sweat of the guards, hear the hushed giggles of servant girls, catch the distant hum of a song on the lips and in the throat of a singer. You can almost catch yourself back in time, a treasured guest at the Kings Palace.
Once we left there, we headed of to the Oldest Tree in Jericho, where Jesus rested as he walked. The story is in the book of Luke. I took pictures, tried to avoid the German tourists who seemed to want to push folks out of the way and gazed up at the sun through the leaves of this beautiful tree.
We tried to leave right away, but the battery for our car died. That's not a fun situation with a 2,4,5, and 12 year old in the car. My uncle ran around and finally found some jumper cables and got the car started an hour later. We drove about, looking for falafel and then later on that afternoon I got dropped back here at my Aunt Haifa's house in time for the wedding Sunday.
Thursday Oct 9th: Near to family- small stream of thought
It's important to be near family. It's a bond that makes us strong. Knowing that you have someone to rely on when you need it and vice versa.
To know you matter to some one and that someone matters to you. Because family matters.
Who ever you consider your family. It just is.
To know you matter to some one and that someone matters to you. Because family matters.
Who ever you consider your family. It just is.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Palestine smells like home and Rimawi's everywhere: Part one
It's been some what of a mystery as to why we all fell out of touch, as to why the family that was near to me through my father was no longer near to me once he was gone. Of course things like that are never done on purpose, but nevertheless, there was a piece missing inside of me that was connected to their part of my family.
I haven't really had a chance to write since I've been here so I'm using the quiet time I have now that folks are at work and school to write.
I love the way Palestine smells. It's so homey. I love the smell of Palestine. The sites and sounds. The smiles and the laughter of children. It makes me feel warm. Makes me feel safe. Makes me feel like I've come home.
It's like sweet and bitter and hot and salty. It smells the way I would imagine comfort smelling. It feels like life would be good here for me. Aside from war or oppression, life would be good. Where else isn't like that? The entire world is in turmoil. The entire world is falling apart. Where else can I go?
It's peaceful for me here, like a warm bath or the waves of the ocean playing along your skin hours and hours after you've left the waters. Just comforting.
My grandfather is having a complex built for most of his grandchildren and said that it's here if I want it and I just have to move here. That me, my brothers and sister each have an apartment ontop of one another and it's all paid for. Below the apartments will be stores. Maybe this is where I can put together a business. My uncle said the easiest way to become a citizen is to marry someone here or open a business. I think it's more likely for me to open a business than it is for me to marry someone here. I already have my heart set on someone else.
I'll continue writing later. I want to help my aunt cook, even though they don't want me doing much. At least I'll sit and talk with her and have some arabic coffee. Yum!
And I wanted to add more more pictures of Ramallah in here today, but the bloggy thing isn't working right. Maybe tomorrow or so it'll work fine.
I haven't really had a chance to write since I've been here so I'm using the quiet time I have now that folks are at work and school to write.
I love the way Palestine smells. It's so homey. I love the smell of Palestine. The sites and sounds. The smiles and the laughter of children. It makes me feel warm. Makes me feel safe. Makes me feel like I've come home.
It's like sweet and bitter and hot and salty. It smells the way I would imagine comfort smelling. It feels like life would be good here for me. Aside from war or oppression, life would be good. Where else isn't like that? The entire world is in turmoil. The entire world is falling apart. Where else can I go?
It's peaceful for me here, like a warm bath or the waves of the ocean playing along your skin hours and hours after you've left the waters. Just comforting.
And here I thought that there were alot of Rimawi's in NYC, but alas there are 10,000 Rimawi's here in Ramallah, mostly based in Beit Rima and then a few more thousand around Palestine.
My grandfather is having a complex built for most of his grandchildren and said that it's here if I want it and I just have to move here. That me, my brothers and sister each have an apartment ontop of one another and it's all paid for. Below the apartments will be stores. Maybe this is where I can put together a business. My uncle said the easiest way to become a citizen is to marry someone here or open a business. I think it's more likely for me to open a business than it is for me to marry someone here. I already have my heart set on someone else.
I'll continue writing later. I want to help my aunt cook, even though they don't want me doing much. At least I'll sit and talk with her and have some arabic coffee. Yum!
And I wanted to add more more pictures of Ramallah in here today, but the bloggy thing isn't working right. Maybe tomorrow or so it'll work fine.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Eyes like mine: Meeting some of the family
It's my first night in Ramallah and I am exhausted. I need to sleep after flying through the Ukraine and waiting and waiting and waiting to get into Tel Aviv and then having to wait there some more when they couldn't find a bunch of our luggage and having to have them tell me that I have to wait until Sunday to get it.
It amazes me just how backwards and careless some folks are.
In any event, I got here and saw these family members for the first time. I see now where Jamelah gets the other part of her smile from, because it's so much like my Aunt Haifa's. The shape of her mouth, her lips. Jamelah's are so much like our mother's, but they are also very much like Aunt Haifa. And her mouth is also like mine. So wide and welcoming.
And her eyes. Her eyes remind me of my father. Not so much in the shape or the color, but what they say, the knowledge they hold. The deeper meaning behind them. Her eyes are like mine. Her eyes are like my father's. She is my father's older sister, so we have a kinship there in having siblings younger than you. She's small, with wide hips and a full laugh, a jiggle of the inside and the soul.
And she wants to feed me all day. I feel welcomed. I feel good to be here.
I can't wait for the rest of the days. It's 9:14pm here right now.
Tomorrow Uncle Naser is coming with my grandfather and his children and I think my other aunt Hitaf. So I need to get to bed soon so that I have the energy to walk around with them all day tomorrow.
I'll be around, with more detail later when I'm less sleepy.
It amazes me just how backwards and careless some folks are.
In any event, I got here and saw these family members for the first time. I see now where Jamelah gets the other part of her smile from, because it's so much like my Aunt Haifa's. The shape of her mouth, her lips. Jamelah's are so much like our mother's, but they are also very much like Aunt Haifa. And her mouth is also like mine. So wide and welcoming.
And her eyes. Her eyes remind me of my father. Not so much in the shape or the color, but what they say, the knowledge they hold. The deeper meaning behind them. Her eyes are like mine. Her eyes are like my father's. She is my father's older sister, so we have a kinship there in having siblings younger than you. She's small, with wide hips and a full laugh, a jiggle of the inside and the soul.
And she wants to feed me all day. I feel welcomed. I feel good to be here.
I can't wait for the rest of the days. It's 9:14pm here right now.
Tomorrow Uncle Naser is coming with my grandfather and his children and I think my other aunt Hitaf. So I need to get to bed soon so that I have the energy to walk around with them all day tomorrow.
I'll be around, with more detail later when I'm less sleepy.
Friday, September 26, 2008
ALSO, leave comments
Leave comments. Let me know what you think about what I'm saying about the country, about the trip, about everything. I'll be posting pictures on here AND on my website www.emanrimawi.com so stay tuned! :)
Okie :)
Okie :)
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