Two Days, Two Views, One Reality

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