I've started this first sentence ten times at this point. I can't get it right for the simple reason that I find it near to impossible to illustrate my experiences here sometimes. We can rationalize anything it seems, and for those experiences that seem to escape description, we relegate them to the pile of 'incomprehensible' and therefore become somewhat 'forgotten', like trauma. I started this post three weeks ago.
Huda, our landlady invited us to "the Feast of St. George"— a big day for the Greek Orthodox. She asked us if we wanted to join her sisters and their church for a jaunt to Lod, the city wherein St. George's bones are buried (St. George as in dragon and martyr). Thousands of Greek Orthodox Palestinians came from all over for this day to cram into a not-so-large church and the crypt (I skipped the crypt part admittedly). I asked Huda how she is allowed to go to Lod, which is in Israel, and she explained that she requests a permit from the Israelis for the day. It is one of three she requests: Christmas, Easter and the Feast of St. George. 'Inshallah(1) she will get all three' she says. At Easter she might get to visit her cousin in Haifa. She asks me if I have been to Haifa and I admit quietly that yes, I have. I can go anywhere I please and I am deeply conscious of that fact the more I stay here with people who cannot. Half the bus was empty and I was surprised. Huda explained that half the church people who wanted to go had been refused their permits.
Part of our day trip was to include a visit to Jaffa and I in turn ask Huda if she has been to Jaffa. She tells me that before 1948 that she used to go and visit with her family there but not again until 1967 and then not again pretty much since the 1980's. She does get there on one of her yearly outings though. And this was it.
After the church cram we headed to Jaffa for some lunch and a meander. Can you imagine what it is like to watch a group of church ladies in their 70's and 80's, wander slowly through these now unfamiliar streets, timid and uncomfortable; surveying both the old and the new, not sure where to go really, what to do. We wandered slowly down to the beach, some came on the sand but others just looked at the water from the distance, on the newly built Israeli promenade. A young boy who had never seen the sea jumped around like a crazed child with his jeans rolled up as far as they could go. Just to clarify geographically for a minute: Jaffa is about 30 minutes from Ramallah—not including the checkpoints—it was about two hours with checkpoints. Some of the other women wandered down and dipped their feet in the sea while one woman in particular kept dragging her feet through the sand and water, over and over again, in a determined way, as if she was trying to implant herself.
We all got back on the bus and discussed what to do next, where to go on this day 'out'. They didn't have a plan, which surprised me, I thought it would be jam-packed with places to go, things to do, things to see, but instead the bus meandered from Jaffa to Tel Aviv to a park where we proceeded to sit for two hours in the dark; aimlessly, just to be 'out'. It occurred to me later, as I watched the group more carefully, that there is in fact no place to 'be' on their outing; What is now Israel is completely foreign to them, the places familiar but so vaguely—they clearly do not feel as if they belong. So they sit quietly watching this changed world and take a very small space in it, perhaps hoping not to really be noticed at all but just to be out from behind the wall. We moved slowly back to Ramallah late in the evening and I sat in the bus wondering how an Israeli or anyone would feel if they were only allowed to move about freely three times a year? I wondered if they or any of us could even fathom what it means to not have the option to hop on a bus if you wanted to see your sister, cousin, mother, nephew or friend where they may be. This is part of life behind the wall.
While this all happened several weeks ago, it remains one of the many daily experiences that turn into longer ones stretching into weeks, months and years.
Notes:
1. Inshallah (arabic) - If god wills it
Monday, November 17, 2008
Monday, November 3, 2008
Naked Hasids and First Ramallah Days
Well if you think you've seen it all you haven't until you meet a Hasid in the nude! Yes, it's true, Tamira and I were photographing our 418 Palestinian villages that no longer exist (1)—usually found in Israeli state parks or as part of Israeli cities—and there he was, bathing away in a natural spring completely 'starkers' making no effort to cover up—in fact the opposite—he stood up and began chatting with us. I can't say the other orthodox men who had come and gone were quite this enamored of female strangers in their midst as this fellow, but it seems we found the hippie Hasid. He put his layers of clothes back on, gatkes (2), under-tallis (3) and all, wished us a good day and was off.
But let me back up a bit to where we were and what we were up to on a glorious fall day in the Jerusalem hills? I have been following the new maps provided for me by Noga Kadman, an Israeli academic geographer who has mapped the locations of all 418 Palestinian villages onto Israeli hiking maps. I have been photographing these places for years but now, with the assistance of Noga's maps, I can pinpoint our destination much better. Of course it means I have to recall my topographical map-reading skills, in Hebrew no less, but I am getting the hang of it and we managed to make it to two villages yesterday and two today as well. The villages sometimes have remnants of houses, sometimes not, they are often in beautiful valleys or on hillsides and it breaks my heart to see these magnificent places in ruins, disregarded, unrecognized or worse, further vandalized. It's funny, when we think about our house, the home we grew up in, we think it will always be there in one form or another. Even with cities changing, 'progress' or suburban sprawl, we don't think of our houses lying in ruins unless we are from war zones. And this is what these remnants are, bombed out, destroyed, abandoned, exiled villages with no villagers to speak of except in the echoes of Palestinian poets and oral histories. I can imagine that one day, when the conflict is behind us, that Palestinians from generations later will make pilgrimages to the towns, villages and homes that their parents, grandparents and greats came from much the same way the Jewish families I know tour through Poland, the Ukraine and the like. What will they see I wonder?
We have settled into our new flat in Ramallah, hustling in the bustling city with the rest of the pedestrians on crammed sidewalks, ambling through open markets, resting at times in cafés for a juice or coffee. We have been 'welcomed' to Palestine time and again in just these two days. "Where are you from" being the most popular question and then greeted with astonishment when we tell them we will be here for eight months. "You are most welcome here." 'Shukran' we say, thank you.
On our first evening here our friend Neta called and asked us if we would like to go to the opening evening of the Shashat film festival (4). Of course, we are here to make a film, so it seemed to be in the right vein. It was an evening of six or seven short films by young women engaged to make their first film (5). What was most interesting was that while they were asked to tackle issues facing girls in Palestine today, not one piece mentioned the Occupation. As if it didn't exist. And in some weird way, I had almost expected that, though I cannot quite figure out why I did and why it is. The films were mostly preoccupied with love and boys (a cellphone romance, a nerdy boy in a shop with high aspirations, and the like), though some bolder films took on issues of young women's rights (does your boyfriend-come-fiancé get to determine whether you continue your studies?) and the challenging of family and societal restrictions on women today. And while the films were not deeply sophisticated or necessarily well-crafted, it was really interesting to see this side of Palestinian society and what in fact occupies these young women.
The days are full and while we have only been a few days here in Ramallah, the checkpoints seem far away and my desire to cross them and face the snarling traffic, the bellowing beligerant soliders ("stop", "go", "move, move") recedes. I know soon I will want to be on the move and travel more throughout the country, but for now, I am content to drink in the sights and sounds right here around our new home.
We have been told that 'Ramallah is not Palestine' and I know what is meant by this: It is not faced with the same tensions of cities like Hebron caught between angry, violent settlers who are encroaching on a completely Palestinian city. It is not Nablus that is still very much a city of nationalist aspiration and high unemployment, and it is also not the Ramallah I was in in 2002 during the Intifada with the constant army incursions, the tanks and the rounding up of militants and the destruction of the Mukata (6). It is a city that is emerging from all that, a city that is trying to find its way whether the 'peace process' is a reality or not. It is a city that assumes its place at the center of Palestine that is definitely a reality for those who live here. More soon.
1. Check out my website and see the project I have been working on called What Isn't There at: http://www.graphicpictures.org). In 1948, with the establishment of the State of Israel, 418 Palestinian villages ceased to exist; the residents forced out, killed, or fled as a result of a new regime. Over 1 million people were displaced.
2. Long underwear
3. Yiddish for Talit (Hebrew), a fringed garment that is worn by orthodox Jews as commanded by the Torah (holy scripture). It is commonly seen as a prayer shawl worn by men (unless you are a 'groovy' Jewish feminist) in synagogue. Orthodox Jews however wear a fringed garment all the time, a sort of 'fringed undershirt' if you will.
4. Women's film festival of Palestine that holds the designation as the ONLY women's film festival in the Arab world.
5. For those of you who know my Inside Out days, it seemed to be kind of like the Queer Youth Video Project.
6. Mukata is the headquarters of the Palestinian Authority.
But let me back up a bit to where we were and what we were up to on a glorious fall day in the Jerusalem hills? I have been following the new maps provided for me by Noga Kadman, an Israeli academic geographer who has mapped the locations of all 418 Palestinian villages onto Israeli hiking maps. I have been photographing these places for years but now, with the assistance of Noga's maps, I can pinpoint our destination much better. Of course it means I have to recall my topographical map-reading skills, in Hebrew no less, but I am getting the hang of it and we managed to make it to two villages yesterday and two today as well. The villages sometimes have remnants of houses, sometimes not, they are often in beautiful valleys or on hillsides and it breaks my heart to see these magnificent places in ruins, disregarded, unrecognized or worse, further vandalized. It's funny, when we think about our house, the home we grew up in, we think it will always be there in one form or another. Even with cities changing, 'progress' or suburban sprawl, we don't think of our houses lying in ruins unless we are from war zones. And this is what these remnants are, bombed out, destroyed, abandoned, exiled villages with no villagers to speak of except in the echoes of Palestinian poets and oral histories. I can imagine that one day, when the conflict is behind us, that Palestinians from generations later will make pilgrimages to the towns, villages and homes that their parents, grandparents and greats came from much the same way the Jewish families I know tour through Poland, the Ukraine and the like. What will they see I wonder?
We have settled into our new flat in Ramallah, hustling in the bustling city with the rest of the pedestrians on crammed sidewalks, ambling through open markets, resting at times in cafés for a juice or coffee. We have been 'welcomed' to Palestine time and again in just these two days. "Where are you from" being the most popular question and then greeted with astonishment when we tell them we will be here for eight months. "You are most welcome here." 'Shukran' we say, thank you.
On our first evening here our friend Neta called and asked us if we would like to go to the opening evening of the Shashat film festival (4). Of course, we are here to make a film, so it seemed to be in the right vein. It was an evening of six or seven short films by young women engaged to make their first film (5). What was most interesting was that while they were asked to tackle issues facing girls in Palestine today, not one piece mentioned the Occupation. As if it didn't exist. And in some weird way, I had almost expected that, though I cannot quite figure out why I did and why it is. The films were mostly preoccupied with love and boys (a cellphone romance, a nerdy boy in a shop with high aspirations, and the like), though some bolder films took on issues of young women's rights (does your boyfriend-come-fiancé get to determine whether you continue your studies?) and the challenging of family and societal restrictions on women today. And while the films were not deeply sophisticated or necessarily well-crafted, it was really interesting to see this side of Palestinian society and what in fact occupies these young women.
The days are full and while we have only been a few days here in Ramallah, the checkpoints seem far away and my desire to cross them and face the snarling traffic, the bellowing beligerant soliders ("stop", "go", "move, move") recedes. I know soon I will want to be on the move and travel more throughout the country, but for now, I am content to drink in the sights and sounds right here around our new home.
We have been told that 'Ramallah is not Palestine' and I know what is meant by this: It is not faced with the same tensions of cities like Hebron caught between angry, violent settlers who are encroaching on a completely Palestinian city. It is not Nablus that is still very much a city of nationalist aspiration and high unemployment, and it is also not the Ramallah I was in in 2002 during the Intifada with the constant army incursions, the tanks and the rounding up of militants and the destruction of the Mukata (6). It is a city that is emerging from all that, a city that is trying to find its way whether the 'peace process' is a reality or not. It is a city that assumes its place at the center of Palestine that is definitely a reality for those who live here. More soon.
1. Check out my website and see the project I have been working on called What Isn't There at: http://www.graphicpictures.org). In 1948, with the establishment of the State of Israel, 418 Palestinian villages ceased to exist; the residents forced out, killed, or fled as a result of a new regime. Over 1 million people were displaced.
2. Long underwear
3. Yiddish for Talit (Hebrew), a fringed garment that is worn by orthodox Jews as commanded by the Torah (holy scripture). It is commonly seen as a prayer shawl worn by men (unless you are a 'groovy' Jewish feminist) in synagogue. Orthodox Jews however wear a fringed garment all the time, a sort of 'fringed undershirt' if you will.
4. Women's film festival of Palestine that holds the designation as the ONLY women's film festival in the Arab world.
5. For those of you who know my Inside Out days, it seemed to be kind of like the Queer Youth Video Project.
6. Mukata is the headquarters of the Palestinian Authority.
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