Let's do this. Hold onto your hats.
I. Christian Bethlehem: Church of the Nativity and the Milk Grotem
II. History of the Occupation, from the PA's point of view
III. The Shuk and Bethlehem University (BU)
IV. Felafel and Chicken Kabob in Bethlehem = O.M.G. (That's an emphatic oh my gosh for all you oldies out there)
V. The Security Barrier/Wall, the Palestinian Side
VI. The Palestinians We Met
VII. Through the Deserted Bethlehem Checkpoint
VIII. Rachel's Tomb; The Security Barrier/Wall, the Israeli Side; and the Abandoned Mosque
*For photos of Bethlehem/Rachel's tomb, go here*
I. Christian Bethlehem: Church of the Nativity and the Milk Grotem
"To the wall? The wall? Manger Square?"
"Lah, shukran. E7na mnee7." (No, thanks, we're good)
We arrived in Bethlehem at 12 PM via an East Jerusalem Bus on Saturday afternoon (no Israeli buses run in Jerusalem on that day) about to head toward Manger Square. After stepping off the bus, we were straightway flooded by the servees wallahs (the taxi drivers). The above interaction happened about three times with three different folks before they realized that we didn't need them--we were two able bodied males dead set on walking.
David told me about a moment he had in another West Bank village: "They always asked me, 'Why walk when you can take a car?'"
And thus, we headed toward the Manger Square that sits in the center of Bethlehem's Old City. The itinerary: a visit to the Church of Nativity, the Milk Grotem that sits directly next door, the Mosque of Omar directly across, the Bethlehem Shuk a twist and a turn away, and Bethlehem University up the hill.
V'az, anachnu halachnu (and so, we went). Here is one and another snippet of our trip there.
Manger Square sits in a vast open space about two football fields long, and two football fields wide. On one end was the Church of Nativity, our first stop.
Walking into the Church of Nativity, I got more practice telling tour guides in Arabic that David and I were ok to walk in alone. I took two videos of our time there, and a couple photos that you can find here and scroll right to see more of the same.
You can also see a bit of the history listed here as well.
A very spiritual place, despite the constant influx of tourists and tour guides.
Directly next to the Church sat the Milk Grotem, a holy sanctuary for Armenian Christians. We filed into the main hall to a beautiful chant from a male service leader. I sat and listened for a time, feeling the spirit of the experience and taking in the hymn. Later in the evening, I did the same at the Omar Mosque.
Regardless of the language, the religion, the music, the experience held all the same emotions, passion and love as a Kabbalat Shabbat service or a day spent in meditation.
II. History of the Conflict, from the PA/Peace Center's Point of View
As we approached, we found a couple of very interesting landmarks: billboard overviewing the history of the conflict from the PA point of view (as sanctioned by the Peace Center that sat in between the Mosque and the Church of nativity), and this sign as well quite nearby.
History is such that it can be told through many different lenses, and this instance proved no different. In the class I took back at Colby, what I saw on the billboard stood very similarly to the positions I had read about from multiple Palestinian sources, ones that, regardless of rhetoric (or the need to "convince") that comes with any national telling of history (this is also an Israeli tradition, it just so happens), holds truth and a legitimacy in its telling.
I took photos of the billboard, and also the pamphlet that they handed out as well. You can find the first one here, and then scroll right to see the rest.
In my view, this history needs to be heard. Many people will talk about rhetoric and about truth being variable according to whom you ask, but I'm of the viewpoint that in areas of conflict, it is important to tell these stories and to understand the broad range of perspectives of the conflict.
At the same time, I also think this needs to be balanced by other perspectives, and a critical look at what is rhetoric and what is valid, and how validity can be expressed in a way that gets at the essence of this validity. Life here in conflict relies on people telling different origin stories and trying to convince one to the other's version. The answer for me lies in mutual legitimacy, one that all sides I believe need.
But who am I to say and do such things. I am a US citizen with no power to change these opinions for the people who I believe need to change them. Other than through conversation and through building relationships.
III. The Shuk and Bethlehem University
Our intended next stop was the Omar Mosque across Manger Square, but we were too late for the afternoon visiting times, so we moved on past it into one of the two small walking-only alleyways leading west from the square. There we found a bustling shuk, faster, cleaner, and more eclectic than the Jerusalem and Old City Shuks combined. A shwarma vendor sold us sandwiches for 10 shekhels and an unlimited supply of fixin's, and there were Arabic espresso shot vendors on every corner (who wore ornate metal tankards of hot coffee slung around one shoulder, and a stack of plastic cups around the other). See here and here for a video of our walk down the shuk.
After David and I had devoured our sandwiches, we saw signs leading to Bethlehem University campus, where my friend Mariana Handal lives (who I know from co-leading dialogues for Israeli, Palestinian, South African, Irish, and American youth two summers back). I told David I wanted to check it out, so we did. It was a small but nicely kept campus. There were no people around because it was semester break (and also a Saturday), though we did find a women's volleyball team practicing hard in the auditorium.
As in Ramallah, there was a memorial for martyrs, this time for the Bethlehem alumni.
You can find another video of my time here. Here's a video of looking at the same view I saw a day before, from the other side (excuse my French at the end... didn't mean to swear!).
IV. Felafel and Chicken Kabob in Bethlehem = O.M.G.
There's really nothing that I can say to you right now that will convince you that the felafel and chicken kabob I had on this trip changed my life. And my stomach.
Other than the fact that I made this announcement take up an entire section in this blogpost.
Please, if you would join me in a moment of thinking about the most delectably spiced and balanced felafel and chicken kabob you've ever had, and then amplifying it by about 20 times the delicious.
Non-peer pressure suggestion if you're still not convinced: Get. Some. Palestinian. Food. When. You're. Here.
V. The Security Barrier/Wall, The Palestinian Side, Bethlehem
*Here is a video of my time walking along the wall. If you click to the right beyond the first video, you'll find a couple of photos and other videos from the trip.*
"Lama."
We left the confines of Manger Square and walked toward the north
side of town toward where the southern portion of the Jerusalem lies.
"Last Christmas my family decided to go to Jerusalem as we
got the Christmas holiday permits from Israel. My father was the first to go
through. the IDF soldier in charge asked my father 'Ma ha'shem ha'mishpacha
shelcha (What is your family's/last name)?'
My father answered, 'Lama.'"
We arrived at around 4:30 as the sun was setting. It wasn't hard
to find. Dark cement blocks clash heavily against the Jerusalem rock that
characterizes the exterior of almost every house in Israel and the West Bank.
Plus, in case we got lost, everyone in town knew about it.
For those who call this a security fence, this is a moment where
you should not call it as such. This, at its most politically correct, was a
solid cement barrier.
"The soldier repeated the question and my father gave the
same answer, 'Lama.'"
The barrier/wall was covered with murals and spray paint from
various artists, revolutionaries, people who wanted to spray something that had
been there before. Much of the wall bordered buildings in Bethlehem; there was
no land in between to make a 'security barrier.' It wound around a seemingly
arbitrary line that was drawn in the dirt of a coffee-stained map somewhere.
With the wall wound a road cut in half in the sense that it could only hold one
car comfortably.
I wondered as we walked about the process of choosing this line,
the process of building the barrier/wall, the process of adapting to its
presence, and what was on the other side. I began to feel claustrophobic at my
wonderings, especially when a car came by, and more especially when two came by
going opposite directions respectively.
This was not a light topic.
"The soldier lost patience and kept asking, repeating the
same question."
Upon the wall were also stories from Palestinians in Bethlehem
about living with the wall and the presence of the IDF in their daily lives. It
was organized by a creative narrative project run by the Arab Educational
Initiative called "The Wall Museum." Check out all of the stories here.
They're quite interesting and illuminating of the many different narratives and
perspectives from beyond the wall.
I read many of them. One of them stuck out to both me and David
and we both laughed at it.
Out of the fact that it was quite the perfect misunderstanding,
given the current situation.
"The soldier started shouting. People started crying and no
one knew what was happening."
As we kept walking through the creative bastion that had become
the Palestinian side of the barrier/wall, we continued to find more examples of
how Palestinians had adapted to the presence of the barrier/wall. Here was one example, which made both me
and David laugh again.
As we continued down a hill, the wall snaked around a single house
on the other side of the road following the wall. This was an odd thing to us.
But we didn't think much of it.
Turns out later that on the other side of that wall was Rachel’s
Tomb, a holy location for Jews and Muslims. Take a look at this map for reference.
No Palestinian living in the West Bank can go there because they are fenced
off. When we visited a few days later, no Muslim was there because the holy
mosque attached to it cannot be accessed by anyone for security reasons.
The Jewish side of the tomb has a holy shrine for women and men. According
to its website, it is visited by thousands of Jews every day. The site also
welcomes everyone regardless of nationality or religion.
While I was there, however, a soldier came up to me and asked me “What
the hell I was doing there” in Hebrew. I told him I was Jewish and from the
United States. He walked on.
We decided to turn around, then. It was getting late and we had to
move toward Beit Jalah to meet a couple friends of ours.
"The captain of the checkpoint came in quite a hurry to
investigate the issue. He questioned my father again, "What is your
family's name?" My father answered again in a very polite way,
'Lama.'"
I have to be honest. The intense back and forth feelings I felt
toward this barrier brought me a great deal of emotion. The official military
order for this section of the wall (parcel 53) was passed in 2003, and the
sections of the wall we walked that day were placed in 2004. This project was
something made in the name of security as a result of the suicide bombings
during the Second Intifada. Many Israelis and Jews all over the globe attribute
it as a major factor for the safe conditions in Israel currently. Many
Palestinians and some other Israelis will remark that there are gaping holes in
the line and that there are many ways to bypass the checkpoints and the barrier
in general. "If someone wanted to come into Israel and wreak havoc, they
could if they really wanted to." "When I get bored of checkpoints, I
just walk through the holes I know and catch a bus into town." Others will
point to the fact that the barrier is being constructed in a way that
intentionally cuts off communities from each other, or intentionally cuts off a
community from their farmlands that they've owned for generations. Others will
debunk this theory and say that it's impossible to maintain security without
compromising these issues. More others will point to the fact that the majority
of Israeli deaths over the past 7 years have come from Israelis, not from
Palestinians living the West Bank and Gaza. Others will attribute Abbas and the
culture shift of protesting nonviolently when he took leadership over the PA.
Others will…
The debate goes on, and this wall still stands. It was a crushing
moment for me, who believes in relationships as a way for people to understand
each other and work together, to see this reality.
In my opinion, I think everyone who made any claims to either side
as a uniform understanding of the truth of this solution, to put it lightly,
incredibly naive.
I don’t think it’s possible to say anything with confidence until
you go somewhere, see it, feel it, experience it, and talk about it. And then,
after this, you can't know that what you experienced was completely true. So
how can an Israeli make a decision like this and be correct? How can a
Palestinian whose life is affected by this every day be correct about all Israelis
needing to leave all of Israel?
What I do know from that time on the wall was that it brought to
me all the questions that I know are truly unanswerable as long as people start
to think about them according to one viewpoint or another. As I stood there
wallowing in the negativity emanating from this place, a clear thought came
ringing to the surface: The longer people start to say that a solution without
a comprehensive and open outlook toward the real issues on the ground for all
people affected in this conflict, the longer a barrier will suffocate, the
longer religious sites will be split instead of shared, the longer anger will
be thrown through rocks and tear gas, the longer the violence, the longer the
dehumanization, the longer people will be killed mercilessly by the ones and by
the hundreds, the longer the pain will grow inside of anyone affected by all of
this.
A solution of suppression and fear, to me, is built upon the
people who feel it, and is resolved between all who do.
It was a clear thought, and with it comes what I see as yet
another incomplete answer based on only what I know to be true up until this
point. I’ll probably learn many other things that will render this thought more
concrete in the future.
Maybe you have one that I'm not seeing.
"After some moments the captain realized what the problem
was. The word Lama in Hebrew meant, 'Why.' In fact, a good question at
checkpoints."
I'd be interested in your thoughts on why as well.
VI. The Palestinians We Met
"Things are very bad for us Arabs. In Egypt, very bad. In Syria, very bad. In Saudi Arabia, girls are getting suppressed for who they are. Very very bad."
Nadir was speaking to us on a bench looking toward the ornate rugs of the Omar Mosque's prayer room. We asked him about his thoughts toward his life in Palestine.
"You know, I have a business leading people in tours around Manger Square and also a side business selling paper. I make ends meet. My children go to school--one of them is in University now *I couldn't remember what Nadir told us he studied*. I am not rich, but I have enough, insha'allah (as god wills it). Our lives here are hard, but we live."
"Mm. What do you wish for in the Arab people?"
"We need to get better. We need to start to buy into progress together and work together. We are all too divided. We need to work together more."
"And what do you wish for in the future?"
He pauses for a couple of seconds.
"I just want to live my life and provide happiness for my family."
~~~~~
"Hallo do you need a tour here?"
"La7, shukran. E7na mnee7." I turn back to the billboard of the PA's history of the conflict.
"Ok. Min wen inta (where are you from?)?"
"Min America."
"Wallah (Awesome). What do you think of this history that you're reading?"
"Well, I think it's interesting. If you want my honest opinion, I think some of it is good and some of it isn't good. I think all histories are open to interpretation, and also depend on who you talk to."
"Ah. Do you think this one is true?"
"Parts of it, yes. Parts of it, no."
"Why?"
"Well, I know the history of this conflict from many different viewpoints and I also know histories are created in particular ways to prove a point or to prove one side is right and one side is wrong. So I know that some of the claims on here are like that, but not all of them! I still think it's good overall."
"Ah. Well then I guess you can say this is our version of history then."
"Yes, and in that right I think it's good to know. I just won't think it as completely true."
"I (am?) like you. Listen. If you ever want a taxi tour for anywhere in the West Bank, give me a call at this number."
"Thank you. I'll definitely do that. Shoo ismik (what's your name)?"
"Osama."
"Ahlan wa sahlan (great to meet you), ismi Hasan."
~~~~~~
"Have you lived in Al Ayda your entire life?"
"Yes my entire life."
"Tell me a story about your life here."
"A story?" He asked me.
"Yes, any one. Good, bad, hard, easy, funny."
He pauses for a minute taking in a bit of the apple flavored hookah. The loud music in the night club pumped onward around us.
"Well, I work at a restaurant here in Bethlehem. There was an Italian group that came into the restaurant once and told me they were staying here for the next three days. They also asked me to teach them to count to 10 in Arabic. I said it was a deal if I would learn how to count to 10 in Italian. So for the first day we each learned 1 to 3, then 4 to 6, then 7 to 10. So I learned all of the numbers in Italian. The thing is I didn't teach them numbers. I taught them each the worst words to say in Arabic, like f*** and sh** and such."
I laugh.
"So we went on like this for the three days, and at the end we each shook each others' hands and thanked one another. The last person in the group came up to me and shook my hand and said the following: 'I thank you so much for teaching our group the numbers. The trouble is I know how to speak Arabic fluently, so I told them what you were teaching them, and they learned the correct ones from me. But, it was a pretty good laugh for all of us. Thank you for making our stay more fun.'"
"That's hilarious."
"Yeah I didn't expect it."
"So this is the first time I've seen apple flavored argilah (hookah)."
"Yeah? I like it the best."
"I like lemon mint."
"Hah. It's good but it's not as good as this. Lemon mint is for light folks."
"Oh well-- I still like it. Let me try the apple."
I take a breath from the nozzle.
"Dang you're not kidding. I feel like I'm suffocating in there."
We laugh together. Then return to the bump and pop of the dubstep club around us.
~~~~~~
"Afwan, Wen il-bar 'Cheers?'"
"The bar Cheers?"
"Ayweh."
"Ah, hadah *@*)!()! fdapui."
"Sorry I don't understand."
"It's just down the street. In fact, my nephew is about to go down there with a shipment of Taybeh; let me see if he'll take you both there."
"Oh wow. Thank you!"
"My other nephew runs the bar down there."
"That's cool. Have you lived in Bethlehem your entire life?"
"Yes, entire life. From where are you?"
"I'm from the United States, he's from Canada."
"Oh the US. I spent some time in New York."
"Oh yeah? And for what?"
"I went to a conference there in the UN."
"Wow! What was that for?"
"It was the annual conference for indigenous peoples from across the globe."
"Woah, that's quite an honor."
"Yes, it was."
"How did you like New York?"
"I hated it! Too many people, too many buildings, too many noises."
"I agree with you. I lived there for a year."
"A year? I couldn't last for a day!"
We both laugh.
"Is your whole family here?"
"Yes, the whole family."
There's a silence during which he looks distant and I wonder if I should ask him about living on the other side of the wall. But we're interrupted.
"Here he is. Elias, would you mind giving these two guys a ride to Cheers?"
"Sure! Come on in."
~~~~~~~~
"So what do you do Elias?"
"I lead tours in Bethlehem."
"Oh yeah? What's the company?"
"Holy Land Tours."
"I've never heard of it."
"Ah, well we're an organization that shows tourists the main sites in Palestine and try to paint as balanced a picture as we can of the situation over here."
"Cool! How do you do that?"
"Well we don't skirt around the issues here. We realized as we started to show people sites in Palestine that we had to show what's going on in the Palestinian territories up close and center."
"Ah so you're talking about places like Hebron."
"Yes, that and here in Bethlehem too."
"Right."
"We just feel that we must educate what we can while we're here and start to have the tough conversations about life here."
"We're doing something kind of similar."
"Oh yes? Tour guides?"
"No. We're on a program that has us living in West Jerusalem, but we take Hebrew and Arabic classes, learn about the complexities and problems in Jerusalem and also in the West Bank, work with organizations in the area that do peace and social justice work in Jerusalem, and take trips on our own like we're doing now to actually see it in action."
"That's great. What work are you doing?"
"We're both working at a joint Israeli-Palestinian school in the southern part of Jerusalem on the green line that teaches a trilingual and multi-lens version of history. David works at a theater company that gets together Israelis and Palestinians through theater, and I am working at a youth chorus that gets together Israeli and Palestinian youth through vocal music."
"Wallah. This is the type of work we need here."
"We think so too."
"Well this is Cheers."
"Thank you so much for the ride Elias; we really appreciate it."
"No problem. Here's my card. If you want to go on one of our tours contact me. Or next time you're in Bethlehem let's meet up."
"Will do."
VII. Through the Deserted Bethlehem Checkpoint, and A Short Reflection on Security
It had been a day full of experiences, and both of us were well spent. After kicking it with Line, Marie, and Anna (Dutch girls we chilled with in Ramallah), we took the 20 shekhel taxi ride back to the 300 checkpoint. Nothing much to report about Bethlehem nightlife on the street. It was much like a school night in downtown Chapel Hill, with the sparse partiers here or there, and the soft lights from convenient stores splotching the windows as we passed.
After paying the servees driver, we approached the 300 checkpoint. It was in an alleyway without any signs, discernable only by the metal caging that lined the sides of the "entrance" and "exit." Since we didn't know which was which, we guessed that the right-hand one was the entrance.
This was our second official walkthrough, so we felt a little more equipped, but still were expecting it to be just as crazy and perhaps confusing as the first time.
Instead, the caging opened to a courtyard on the other side. To the left a fence. To the right a road leading through the wall and out North towards Jerusalem. In front, another set of New York City-like 7 foot hight metal turnstiles through an outdoor hallway.
We chose the hallway (obviously) which led to a half-lit warehouse of a room. There were three main gates. David and I tried the first one, but it was locked. The second one, locked. The third one, locked.
We had heard that checkpoints sometimes closed without warning. "I'm so tired, man," David said to me after the third gate didn't budge. "At this point I don't care about anything but getting home tonight." "Yeah. I'm not going to be happy if we have to spend some time figuring out where to stay tonight."
All of that said, we didn't know This would be interesting.
After a couple of "hello?"s and a stronger retrying of the first and second gate, we approached the third gate and somehow this time it opened to the same airport-security/conveyer belt/metal detector situation as Qalandiya. We put all of our stuff through the conveyor belt, walked through the metal detector and waited for someone to check us, but no one was there. In fact, no one was even checking the computer that read what was inside of our bags.
This was weird.
We collected our stuff, strided past four "interrogation rooms" to our left (a scene made-up by my mind flashed before my eyes of a man being called into one of the rooms and asked what his family name was), and found a lone soldier with a large gun patrolling behind what looked very much like the customs booths at Ben Gurion. This was a funny scene. Would he be taking our passports?
"Eifoh anachnu tzrachim lalechet (Where should we go?)?" I asked him. He responded with a grunt and a point of the gun toward one of the customs booths that housed a recently awakened Israeli woman.
She stretched her arms up to become more awake. "Passport and visa please," which we gave to her in turn. This was a much nicer experience than Qalandiya. There was no line, it was not outside, and the border guards were both quite hospitable. We both passed without a problem, she went back to her dozing, and we went up the road to catch an Egged bus.
The checkpoints continue to be an interesting and varied experience. While in the South Hebron hills, I was pulled aside because I had left my passport at home (but fortunately had my passport number with me). They ran me through a conveyor belt and called the central intelligence ministry to look me up. I passed through in five minutes. Again I was left with the question: what if I had grown up in Pakistan or had lived in Iran for a time and happened to be Jewish? Would it have been a more extensive process?
"This is the reality. People around us are threats. While I'm sorry about your experience coming into the country, we must err on the side of security lest one of these people that we let in be the one that hurts us."
This is the reality I live in, one where people judge first and ask questions later. It is a culture of judgment and then (if they feel like it) genuine questioning.
VIII. Rachel's Tomb
And now, for something completely related.
A week later, after my work at Hand in Hand/The Jerusalem Youth Chorus, after three more Hebrew lessons and an Arabic lesson, after meeting up with Justus Baird a supervisor from my old interfaith camp, after studying the complex contradictions posed by Israel's vague Declaration of Independence (sound familiar USA?), David and I wanted to take a Friday to go to Rachel's Tomb.
For those who don't know, Rachel is a prominent figure in the Torah, the Bible, and the Koran. She is the preferred wife of Jacob (he had two--Rachel and Leah), the mother of Joseph, and the woman who kept Jacob alive by offering him the bucket of water she had just fetched from a nearby well. Her legacy is a strong holy connection for Jews because of her direct lineage, and also because of Judaism's emphasis on connected back to our people's history through faith and intention.
We went back to the bus stop we had taken the weekend before and crossed the street to wait for the 163, the only way to get to Rachel's Tomb other than with your own car. There are no sidewalks that lead to the tomb.
Here's why. Take a look at this map, and this map, of the separation barrier in Bethlehem. Rachel's burial place is actually on the northern side of Bethlehem on Hebron Road that leads from the south of Jerusalem. But, as you can see, this northern side of Bethlehem is not in Bethlehem. Instead, there is a giant divot in the middle of the wall to ensure that Israelis wishing to enter the tomb can with sufficient protection (No Israeli is allowed in Area A, aka Bethlehem. In the Oslo accords, Rachel's Tomb fell into Area C, where Israelis have full jurisdiction).
What is most astounding about this situation is that all of the murals and stories I described above on the claustrophobic road we were on was exactly the divot of Rachel's Tomb. The house that sat in the middle of the wall where I postulated why this occurred was the house pointed out in this map.
The answer to my question of what was on the other side: an Israeli military base.
*Shortpost: Al Aida Camp. On the other side of an Islamic cemetery, Al Aida Refugee camp sits just west of Rachel's Tomb. This is an area that the Israeli military continually patrols because there had been several 'attacks' from the camp during the second intifada (I put attacks in quotations because many times when there are "attacks," there are actually provocations from both sides that lead to escalations... but I"m not in the mood to go way into the semantics and he-said-she-said here... it's too exhausting; suffice it to say this is a vague moment in second intifada history). In fact, this was a significant place for many Palestinian demonstrations in the second intifada, some more violent (rocks) than others.
I have met two Americans working with refugees in the camp at the Lajee cultural center which runs several activities for the members of the refugee camp throughout the year. They both say that the people in the camp often laugh about the presence of the IDF in the camp throughout the day, as if they want to pick a fight. They also report that there is more tension in the camp than they had felt ever before being there, both from the IDF's consistent presence, and also from the Palestinians within the camps' borders.
The IDF has also been documented in ransacking the cultural center several times in order to 'check' for security issues. An ex-soldier reported that sometimes these 'checks' were not checks. They "were explicitly told that they were there just to make their presence as a power known."
The refugee camps are not tents anymore, but a system of very closely stacked and closely situated buildings. It's like the Old City in that the roads only fit one car, and the buildings must build up in order to fit the capacity of the people that live there. The camp now houses over 5,000 people in .71 square kilometers. Proportionally that's around 20,000 people in one square mile, about 7,000 people lower than New York City proper. The goal was to provide short-term housing until the conflict ended/until people could afford better property. So far this hasn't happened.*
Coming into the tomb we were surrounded by cement walls. Here is a video tracking our way out to give you a sense of it.
It being Friday, there were many many Orthodox women and men on the bus chatting actively. After we got off the bus, we walked into the male-only entrance. Males and females pray separately in Jewish tradition, and thus there was a separation up to cater to the most religious. There we found many davening (praying) the afternoon prayer. At the risk of being disrespectful, I took a brief video of the scene inside the tomb. You can see the large structure in the center as where Rachel's remains are lain.
I also davened mincha while I was there and got up close to the giant structure. I touched it and I felt two things: connection and rejection. Connection because this was an ancestor from both my mother's and father's lineage. Rejection because I know Muslims can no longer visit this spot because of the measures taken by the IDF toward the violence that transpired here in the 2000s.
There is also an interesting debate talking about whether or not this area was a mosque back in the day. Here's what Israelis have to say about it ("It is a travesty of UNESCO's goals to rewrite history in the service of those who want to eradicate Jewish culture from the Middle East... and uproot the connection between the nation of Israel and its cultural heritage."). On the other side of the coin, it is well known that Muslims have a connection to Rachel: I was told the exact same story about Rachel learning in a mosque as I was at Hebrew school. It's true, Rachel was not Muslim (yet neither was she 'Jewish' at the time...) but her lineage is also honored and written in Islamic stories/lore.
It is a hard reality to experience for me. Really very hard. I can't say that I don't think Israel did the wrong thing, but I also can't say that it did the right one. This area continues to be separated, and both sides continue to insist they are correct.
Outside, I took a video of the surroundings. The man who approaches me at the end asked me "Ma atah oseh?" (What are you doing). I couldn't understand him so I asked "Ma?" He repeated the question. And I still couldn't understand him. He repeated the question and I told him that I didn't understand in English. He waved me off and walked past me.
I'm unsure if I'm right when I say the following things. But I'm pretty sure he saw me with a camera. And he saw me as an Arab who had come here to video tape. And it was his job to keep this area secure.
I'm tired of arguing about who is more right. And I'm tired of being grouped into identities.
How about we give it to both of them, base this solution on an interfaith conversation, educate people on the ground on both sides that, honestly, you need to get used to people different from you, stop all the god damned violence from the IDF, stop all the victimization and counter-violence by Palestinians, and remember that beyond all of this, this is a beautiful land filled with people from all walks of life and not just those that threaten or those that are part of my group?
In my heart I am hurt. Because I know this question is still a long way away from being even addressed.
Is this demand of my two lineages too Western of me to ask? Is it truly possible?
Regardless. I'm not sorry for thinking it.
