reflections from bethesda.

with no path prepared, i choose to wander, 

drawn through the cobblestone streets of al Quds. 

i am chased by echoes of singing in majestic tongues of longing.

pilgrims traveled from near and far; all are searching for something. 

beggars reach out wrinkled hands, hunger in their eyes. 

soldiers stand with solemn stares, guns hanging by their sides. 

children hide in darkened doorways, giggling at passerbys. 

church bells chime alongside cries to Allah; 

timeworn prayers are whispered, pressing in close. 

i wonder--if these walls could speak, what stories would they tell? 

•••

as i walk, i sense my own story encompassed in this journey. 

carrying notebooks filled--but with more questions now than answers. 

heading down winding alleys with dead ends, back and forth again. 

•••

i happen upon the pools of Bethesda, last visited my first day here, many months ago. 

a drizzle begins to fall from the sky, guiding me towards shelter in these ancient ruins.

this reservoir where the blind and paralyzed once lain--yearning to see, waiting for healing. 

i imagine the sort of questions asked here, the pain and hope reflected in these waters. 

i know more now than i knew it then:

this world is not fair, our path in it not clear.

yet somehow there is beauty, grace, hidden in the cracks. 

AQB Exchange.

A little background info: Some of you may know that I am studying here at Al-Quds University, which is sort of true. More specifically though, I am a student at a smaller college within the main university called Al-Quds Bard (or AQB for short), which is a partnership between Al-Quds University in Palestine and Bard College in upstate New York. There are a few hundred Palestinian students enrolled here, earning a dual degree from both institutions. In contrast to the main university, the classes at AQB are taught almost entirely in English with a strong focus on writing and critical thinking. Apart from my two Arabic classes [one focused on FusHa or classical Arabic, and one on the local Palestinian dialect], I am taking three amazing human rights courses taught by some of the most critically-minded, inspiring professors I have ever met. The class titles are Politics of Human Rights, Women and Minorities Rights, and Human Rights after 9/11. Someday I am going to get really nerdy and summarize the arguments of these courses on this blog of mine, so you can look forward to that :)

Anyways, just one of the great aspects of Al-Quds Bard is the exchange program that they host between American and Palestinian students. Each semester, a few students from AQB travel across the world to study at Bard New York, and a few students from various American institutions get the chance to immerse themselves in life at a Palestinian University in the West Bank. Overall, I have found the opportunity to participate in this program be an incredible experience of academic challenge, personal growth, and shifting views on this place and the world beyond it. I have been stretched in ways I didn't anticipate, introduced to ideas I didn't expect, and changed in ways I couldn't have planned. My time here hasn't always been easy, but I feel that what I have learned has been more than worth it--and that it will continue to shape me for many years to come.

If you are reading this blog, you are probably aware that I have been trying my best to chronicle at least some of these experiences and lessons learned [or more typically, questions asked] through this medium. However, my perspective has its limits, and there are many other important points of view that I wish you could hear. That is why I have decided to present something new and a little different in today's post. Recently, I came across an article written by a classmate and friend of mine in regards to her similar experience of studying abroad, but flipped in terms of identity and locations [from AQB to the US]. I thought it would be interesting to highlight her contrasting, yet complementing, perspective. Personally, I gleaned a lot from her thought-provoking words and would love for you all to read what she has to say! So without further ado, I am excited to introduce you to the writing of the wonderful Yara Afandi:

"New-York-Amman-Dheisheh"

 

This part especially resonated with me: "You will look at things from a very different perspective. This might lead to culture shock, a mild depression, and a certain level of frustration; trust me I’ve been there. But it will forever erase what ordinary is."

 

And this part inspired me: "Moving forward is the only weapon Palestinians have. Educational, rational, and social change will enable refugee camps to be less shattered and more ready than ever before to face occupation and advance to freedom – the freedom of both country and mind."

 

Thanks, Yara, for allowing me to share your influential thoughts, and for writing so honestly about your experience. I am grateful to know you!



 



Tension in Tel Aviv.

Right now I am sitting in the most picturesque little café in Tel Aviv, just minutes away from the breezy, sunny beach where I plan to spend the afternoon. A short walk in either direction leads to markets overflowing with fresh fruit, nuts, and spices, beside endless tables of eclectic, handmade crafts. Young people fill the European-style streets and parks, enjoying the trendy atmosphere and bustling night scene. Last night my friend and I witnessed a gorgeous sunset on our way to a fancy restaurant to eat delicious seafood. Basically, this short, spontaneous spring break trip has felt like hanging out in paradise.

Maybe I should just allow myself to fully enjoy these couple days of escape from the usual stresses of life in Palestine. But of course, things aren't that simple. I am present in this beautiful seaside setting, but my mind keeps drifting back to what exists only an hour or so away in the West Bank. That place has beauty too--but it also has checkpoints, refugee camps, and a sort of heaviness that makes breathing so easily here feel foreign. The reality that these two places exist simultaneously, so close together, is almost impossible to fathom.

What is bothering me even more though is this knowledge in the back of my head about the relationship between these two places. In a diversity of ways, the life enjoyed here in Israel is at the expense of Palestinians. Inclusive in this statement, yet also beyond it, is the reality that the rich in this world often benefit, either directly or indirectly, from the suffering of the poor. Therefore, as an advocate for the Palestinian cause, and other efforts towards equality and justice, I feel compelled to ask a series of questions [which really shouldn't be surprising at this point].

Am I being true to myself and my personal convictions by coming here? Spending my money here? Is it hypocritical for me to actually quite like it here? To simply enjoy this environment without thinking about the consequences on anyone else? 

As I watch the sunset over the ocean, should I smile with gratitude at how magnificent it is, or feel solemn knowing that the majority of Palestinians have been completely cut off from this view? Or perhaps some combination of both?

What is with this sense of entitlement evident in phrases like "I just need a break from the West Bank for a little while" when so many others don't get that option? When Palestinians aren't allowed permits or visas to enjoy where I can go so freely? 

In general, who is being affected by the daily decisions I make? Do I care enough to make the harder choices, especially in light of the justification of self-pity? ["it's been a difficult day... Should I splurge on this thing I wouldn't usually buy, even if it breaks my boycott standard or is a bit too indulgent?"]

And what about the people around me [Israelis, the wealthy]? How should I feel about them? Is this anger I feel towards such apparent complicity justified? Or should I be a bit more understanding towards their way of life, myself feeling the enticement of blind comfort in this self-proclaimed "bubble"? Even if they are just somehow unaware, shouldn't they still be held accountable? And since I play many similar roles considering my position in the world, shouldn't I be held accountable? 

Goodness gracious. These voices almost never leave my head these days. These questions, and the way I answer them through my actions, leave me in endless tension.  

Maybe you'd tell me that I am overthinking this, that I shouldn't feel so responsible in regards to injustice, and maybe you'd have a point. After all, I am just one small person in a really big world, and I know there's not much of a difference I can make. But then again, I think I have learned that what allows things like the occupation to continue is actually a lot of small people making small decisions to see the world and live in it a certain way. Which must mean that the only way things will ever change is through a lot of small people, seeing differently and doing something about it.

The problem, my friends, is in all of us. But maybe the hope is in us too. 

 

Food Tour of Palestine.

Alright, so I admit I have turned into one of those people who takes pictures of their food all the time, but I swear it is for a good cause [to be able to share this very important part of the culture with all of you!]. And now the time has come...Allow me to introduce you to the many mouth-watering delicacies of Palestinian cuisine :)

Breakfast done right... A spread of fresh bread from the streets of Jerusalem, falafel, lebneh (strained yogurt) with olive oil, eggs, baba ganoush (an eggplant dip), various veggies (which taste way better than the ones in America), and more. Prepared by and shared with Palestinian friends who invited me to spend the night at their home. 

This classic Palestinian dish is called Maklouba, which literally translates to "upside-down." It is made with a mixture of rice, meat (usually chicken), and vegetables (here with potatoes & chickpeas, but also sometimes eggplant, cauliflower, or fried tomatoes)--all cooked together in a pot then flipped upside down when served, hence the name. It is typically eaten with yogurt and a simple salad of cucumbers & tomatoes.

Lunch break with friends at school. Closest pictured is another traditional Palestinian dish called Musakhan: taboon bread topped with a mixture of onions, sumac, allspice, saffron, pine nuts, and roasted chicken. To the right is a similar bread with jibna (cheese) and zaatar (a popular herb & spice mixture). And lastly, to the left is Mansaf: yellow rice topped with nuts and chicken or lamb, served beside a broth of lamb stock and dissolved dried yogurt. It is traditionally a Bedouin meal, meant to be eaten communally, and also the official national dish of neighboring Jordan.

A simple meal of cooked squash stuffed with rice and meat. But extra special because I helped to make it, using a specific tool to carve out piles of squash, while chatting in Arabic with my friend's sweet family :)

Hummus with a twist, served warm with whole chickpeas and plenty of olive oil. And of course, the typical pita bread and random vegetable plate. This meal was at Afteem, one of the most popular restaurants in Bethlehem, across from the Church of the Nativity. 

Palestine's version of American hamburgers for dinner with our host family. Also, it is worth noting that french fries here are usually eaten inside the sandwich (like when you order a falafel wrap for example). This took a little bit of getting used to, but its actually pretty convenient on the go!

Okay, this dish is not actually rooted in Palestine either, but I had to include it because of how obsessed some of my Egyptian friends are with their beloved Molokheyah (you all know who you are). Its sort of a soup made with minced Jute leaves and spices, with a distinct texture, usually served over rice or other grains. 

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A couple of weeks ago, I noticed these for sale in abundance on the street, but couldn't figure out what they were. Later I learned they are actually un-ripe green almonds! Tender and sort of fuzzy on the outside (like peaches), they are best eaten with a little bit of salt. 

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And last but certainly not least, one of the most famous desserts of the Levant: Kanafeh. It is basically a layer of soft white stringy cheese topped with either shredded phyllo dough or semonila and drenched with sugar syrup, served steaming hot from a large platter. May sound a little strange at first, but trust me--its delicious :)

I'm Back!

Hi friends & faithful blog followers. I'm sorry it has been a while since I have written anything on here! There has been quite a bit going on lately--with quite a bit falling into the overwhelming/emotional/tiring category. Lots of learning happening, lots of times the hard way. The past few weeks have definitely held some challenges, but I feel that I can look back and be grateful for these experiences and the way I am growing through them. 

Some things I am referring to are pretty serious in nature, while others seem insignificant in retrospect. I feel like living abroad for a while tends to exacerbate otherwise slight trials, or perhaps intensify any kind of experiences. Sometimes just doing the smallest things can prove extraordinarily difficult; but at the same time, small things that wouldn't typically be appreciated can cause disproportionate happiness. I guess its a trade-off in that regard.

This past weekend could serve as a relevant case-study. I took a little trip to Jordan, with the essential purpose of re-entering in order to renew my visa (just one of the complications of studying here). On top of just being nervous in general, a few minor incidences happened along the way--including a wild goose chase for an adapter and cigarettes, getting into a taxi accident, and crossing the border late at night with only moments to spare [don't worry mom, I'll explain...]

First of all, apparently the electrical adapters in Jordan are not the same as Palestine, which was kind of a big deal considering I needed to use my phone to send some very important messages. Determined to find a solution, I set out to buy an adapter, which really didn't seem like it would be too difficult. I walked to a nearby shopping area and into store after store [including at least 10 cell phone/gadget stores all on the same street...which made no sense to me], but not one of them had the right kind. This would be frustrating anywhere, but was even worse as a foreigner trying to communicate in half English/half Arabic in an unfamiliar place as one of the only women on the street. Meh :/

I never found an adapter (but did find a computer at the hotel that I could use to send those necessary emails). Then the next morning, I went on another search, this time for cigarettes. No, I haven't started smoking. But the dad of the family I am staying with asked me if I could buy him a carton of his favorite kind of cigarettes that are unavailable in Palestine. So I said, "sure, that shouldn't be too difficult..." [famous last words]. After asking for them in several stores before finally finding the right brand, attempting to get enough money from three different ATMs that didn't work, appealing for help from two different banks, then finally figuring out I could exchange my leftover Palestinian shekels for enough Jordanian dinars, I finally succeeded! All of these adventures involved walking up and down the same long street like 8 times, much to the amusement of the same shopkeepers who kept seeing me pass by. 

Despite my stress [primarily regarding things that are not such a big deal, I know], I was truly struck by how kind people were towards me. When I couldn't figure out how to tell the taxi driver the location of my hotel, someone on the street looked it up and wrote down directions in Arabic to give him. When I frantically realized I needed to print out a copy of my flight itinerary to show at the border, a shopkeeper let me use his printer for free. Just as I was thinking about missing spending Easter with my family, someone randomly wished me a happy Easter, even though the holiday is not celebrated until next week in Jordan. Like I said, sometimes it's the little things.

Nearing the end of the trip, my university decided the best strategy was to try to cross the border right before it closes, so they would be less likely to give me any trouble. This was a really great plan until the hired taxi got into a slight accident literally while leaving the hotel parking lot... Thankfully, we were fairly soon on our way again in a different taxi, but cutting it a little too close for my liking. It was a very strange feeling to be traveling on the last bus between the two borders (in a sort of eerie limbo land) as one of the only passengers in the dark of the desert. But hey, it all worked out fine in the end--I'm back, safe and sound :)

Confessions of a Tourist Critic.

One day as I was walking down the street [apparently when all of the most notable things happen], this guy approached me asking where I was from and if I wanted to see the famous Banksy artwork on the wall around the corner. I responded to him in Arabic, saying I knew about the graffiti and actually lived in Bethlehem, as a student--not a tourist. However, he continued with his spiel, not quite believing me...which bothered me a little too much. Slightly frustrated, I kept walking and saw the guy's friend waiting for him nearby. Funny enough, it just so happened to be someone I know (a friend of a friend from Atlanta) who I greeted enthusiastically by name. "Oh, I guess you really aren't a tourist..." the guy who had been talking to me earlier admitted. Ha! I had proved myself! [and obviously felt some pride about this feat]. 

Later that afternoon, I met up with an American friend and relayed the story to him as a somewhat momentous success. Also living here in a more long-term sort of way, he understood how I felt in regards to this desire to somehow be differentiated from the tourists who constantly come and go. We talked about seeing them on the streets and feeling some sort of slight aversion or annoyance at their apparent naivete. But we also both recognized that there are some egregious flaws in this mindset... Why is it that we react to them this way? Why do we go out of our way to try to show that we are in a separate category (as my story so clearly reveals)? Perhaps this can be attributed to a subconscious belief that we are somehow superior to them...but is this really true?  

Sure, I speak enough of the language to get around and have tried my best to study the region in a sensitive way and have actual friends who live in Palestine. I have been here long enough now to grow accustomed to my daily routine without constantly feeling like an outsider without a clue. But still, this doesn't erase the fact that I am a white-skinned, light-haired, western-raised foreigner in this place (regardless of my shifting degrees of awareness about this reality). This in and of itself represents and communicates something wherever I go--in a way that I'm not sure differs so substantially from the tourists who I tend to view with some level of inexplicable disdain. 

Working through this, my friend and I came to the conclusion that perhaps we seek to place these tourists on the outside in order to define ourselves [you know, the familiar model of any sort of categorization or modern-day citizenship configuration]. We want to be different, in order to be considered somehow better, or at least convince ourselves that this is so. Beyond this, perhaps our criticisms of them are actually projections of our own faults and fears regarding our role here... Wow. 

Realizing this is helping me to re-shape my thinking, and hopefully my future actions [a sometimes tiring process that feels especially incessant yet necessary here]. It serves as a good reminder to remain continuously aware of my "outsiderness," even as I become more comfortable in my surroundings. I must keep working to ask thoughtful questions, shy away from assumptions, and have an attitude of humility rather than arrogance. Also I must strive to be aware of the role that my own country and government has in this specific environment [it's not positive], as I think this requires me to acknowledge a certain sense of liability. 

Additionally, thinking about this provokes a passion in me to actively advocate for more responsible tourism (and foreign living) in whatever ways possible--whether through educational means or economic awareness or just basic sensitivity towards people's humanity and suffering [i.e. it is in most cases not okay to take pictures of people or their homes without their permission, just as an example]. As another example, it is good to be aware of who is benefiting from the tourism industry vs. who is being exploited. This has particular relevance in the West Bank, where tourism-dependent Palestinian industries are crippled by Israeli-run tours coming in for the day, advising tourists not to spend money in Arab shops, then bringing them back to Israel for accommodations--leaving the hotels here nearly empty. This is a real reason to be bothered, but the implications are not just for "them"--there are applications in my daily life as well. 

In summary, seeing myself as part of the problem, rather than conveniently removed from it, allows me to be much more responsible and sensitive in the long-run. I hope it can also enable me to extend a little more grace and little less anger towards the the outsider (often conflated with the oppressor) in both the "other" and myself--as I think we need to strike a balance between these to be able to produce effective change. Neither naivete [being unaware of potentially harmful dynamics] nor excessive blaming [not seeing these at work in ourselves] will result in a genuine difference made. May we all learn to live better together...

A Unique Invitation.

So the other night I was walking down the street in Bethlehem with my American friend Sam. Now there are a lot of great things to know about Sam, but the first thing that stands out is that he is exceptionally tall. This garners him a lot of attention on the street here in Palestine in general, but this evening was an extra special case... 

As we were walking, this teenage girl in a passing car literally leaned over a full back seat to stick her head out the window and scream in Arabic something along the lines of, "Oh my gosh, you are soooo tall!!!" Then a few minutes later, the same car came back around on the street and beckoned us over. At this point, we could see that the car held an entire family, with the grandfather driving and the high school aged girls and a baby in the back seat. They were so excited to talk to us, well mostly Sam, and offered profuse compliments and exclamations about how amazing he was. Then they said, "Please, you must come over to our house!" Sam and I looked at each other and responded, "Uh, we can't tonight, but maybe another time." So the conversation ended with Sam offering his name for them to find him on Facebook, and the two of us walking away smiling and laughing at the encounter. 

I had my doubts about this girl actually finding Sam on Facebook, but really I shouldn't doubt these things. Fast forward to the next night and we found ourselves in their living room sitting on the couch with what appeared to be the entire extended family staring at us [seriously, I counted and there were 14 people]. We spoke mostly in Arabic and soon learned that the family worked with olive wood to make these beautiful necklaces for sale in the old city near the Church of the Nativity. After showing interest, we were invited to see the details of this firsthand. 

With great pride, the family led us through each step of the process that takes place in a workshop nearby their home. We saw everything from the slicing of the olive trees into smaller workable pieces to the punching of holes then the cutting out of beads before being smoothed and shined then finally strung together. They explained how everyone in the family has a different role in helping to create the final product. I asked if it would be okay to take a picture as they were demonstrating how to cut the beads. The younger boy jumped in to create a scene of three generations working together:

The workshop employs about 12 men in the community, while the women help to string the beads together to create the jewelry. Their business is very reliant on tourism which often fluctuates, but they said it generally does pretty well. We were offered necklaces as gracious gifts, and also purchased many more. Needless to say, some of you will be getting souvenirs with a very special story behind them :)

On another note, before leaving, we were brought to visit each of the neighbor's homes in a succession of 5-minute coffee conversations and a chance for a photo-op with the tall American. Sam cheerfully obliged, as hey, this was the reason we made it there in the first place! 

Sam being a good sport, 

holding the finished necklaces

Overall, what a unique invitation: both the way it was given, and also what we were given a glimpse of as a result.