Here, There, and Everywhere.

Yesterday I began the morning in Ein Rafa, an Arab village located in what is now Israel--home of Palestinians made Israeli citizens [who actually comprise about 20% of Israelis]. Although granted citizenship, these Arabs are faced with no small amount of discriminatory laws and practices. Adalah, the legal center for Arab minority rights in Israel, has compiled a database of over 50 laws that discriminate against Palestinian citizens of Israel in relation to political participation, access to land, state resources, education, and court procedures. Perhaps even more concerning though is the way that this structure cuts off Palestinians within Israel (also called 48 Arabs) from Palestinians within the West Bank, and of course also from Palestinians within Gaza. Here we can see a typical "divide and rule" strategy at play in the context of Israel as a colonial-settler state.

Then I participated in a tour of the port city of Jaffa, once the heart of Palestine and a thriving economic and cultural center of the Arab world, now under the jurisdiction of neighboring Tel Aviv with Hebrew on its signs and palpable racism on its streets. Our Palestinian tour guide told tragic stories of the Nakba in this city--the forced expulsion of 95% of the indigenous Arab Palestinian population by Zionist military forces in 1948, with the remaining Arabs rounded up from their homes and ghettoized in a small area under military control. These people suddenly lost everything: their homes, their families and friends, their historic buildings, even their street names. Until this day, the minority group of Palestinians living in Jaffa face what they call an "ongoing nakba," characterized by severe housing discrimination and demolitions, as well as a systematic erasure of Arab Palestinian history from the education system and public monuments. Walking through the area with a critical mind, the goal of the Israeli municipality becomes clear: "the Judaization of Palestinian space and consciousness," and thus the erasure of this people group.

Next we walked down the shore of the shimmering Mediterranean sea, whose waters the majority of Palestinians have been banned from touching, towards the towering metropolis of Tel Aviv. I learned that these skyscrapers and recreational areas were built on the ruins of 20 Arab Palestinian villages, their original inhabitants ethnically cleansed. That changes the way you see things.

View of Tel Aviv from Jaffa

Once in Tel Aviv, we bypassed the wealthy tourist areas and visited instead a neighborhood of the city with a high concentration of African asylum seekers. I recently learned about the tragic circumstances of these people at a lecture by David Sheen, but this day provided a chance to hear the story of a young man from Darfur firsthand. He told us how he fled genocide in his homeland, forced to leave behind his family in order to avoid being captured as a child soldier. After being pushed out of several cities in northern Africa, he heard about some people from Darfur living in Israel. Although getting there involved serious risk [of being caught and sent back to Darfur, or else being shot and killed at the border], he decided to try to make it, having no other options available. Against many odds, this man did actually get into Israel safely; however what he experienced upon arrival was far from welcoming.

After more than 10 years, this asylee has not been granted any status by the state of Israel: no clear rights, no work permits, no recognition as a refugee [in violation of international law]. There are an estimated 45,000-60,000 other asylum seekers like him, mostly from Sudan and Eriteria--many of whom have been forced into jail-like detention centers in remote areas. In addition to these highly discriminatory official policies, there exists a shocking level of racism against Africans in Israeli society in general. Leading rabbis have issued edicts that Israelis should not rent apartments to Africans, or any other non-Jews. The media presents them as a threat to society, with politicians referring to them as "a cancer" and "disease-ridden terrorist threats." They often face physical violence on the street and there have been countless racist demonstrations specifically targeting them. Despite their history of suffering, these African refugees fleeing genuine persecution are not given relief in Israel, supposedly created as a state of refuge--but only if you are Jewish.

From Tel Aviv, we headed back to East Jerusalem, the Arab section of the city--but under Israeli military occupation. Here we had dinner with a few Israeli university students who wanted to share with us their perspective [which I realize isn't the perspective of all Israelis, but seems to be the dominant one]. After months of attending a Palestinian university and seeing the situation in the West Bank with my own eyes, I could hardly believe what I was hearing. This guy's well-rehearsed narrative was rooted in the language of human rights and international law, but set forth so many misconceptions that I don't even know where to start... But of course, Arabs have equal rights because Israel is a "democracy," severe human rights violations are acceptable for the sake of the "security" of one side, Palestinians are all terrorists while Israeli soldiers murder hundreds of children in Gaza. I'm really not one to debate for the sake of it, but this conversation was so deeply infuriating--primarily because I realized how easily people can be deceived by arguments that sound good on the surface while actually perpetrating blatant lies.

In order to get back home, I had to cross through the pedestrian checkpoint into Bethlehem--a winding maze of narrow passageways, metal bars, and cage-like barriers. Being late at night, the place was mostly empty, but I could imagine the chaos of thousands of Palestinian workers being forced through this dehumanizing passageway each day. I have heard many refer to the checkpoint's structure as similar to the methods used to herd cattle. There is often a lack of order with dangerous [and sometimes deadly] overcrowding, purposely limited soldiers on duty, and arbitrary rule changes without any announcements made. Trust me when I tell you, this place is literally designed to mess with you, both physically and psychologically.

Photo taken outside of Bethlehem Checkpoint
 https://greennumberplate.wordpress.com/2013/12/31/228/

In the end, I got into my bed exhausted, thinking over all of the layers of oppression witnessed in one day. So many complex situations: from Palestinians discriminated against within Israel to remnants of the Nakba in colonized cities to the horrific treatment of African asylum seekers to the lies perpetrated within the Israeli system to the crossing of dehumanizing checkpoints into the West Bank...

How is it possible to make sense of all of these injustices?

In some ways, I feel that each of these situations are unique, impossible to grasp without a solid understanding of the specific context. However, I am also beginning to see that the forces at play in all of these examples are exactly the same [and intertwined themselves]. Various expressions of racism. Colonialism and white supremacy. Militarism and state-sanctioned violence. Neoliberal economic polices. The manipulation of law. Language as a mechanism of power. Lying politicians and deceptive media coverage.

I think I am realizing more and more that what can be observed in this place so overtly is happening not just here, but everywhere. Understanding the dynamics of specific cases in Israel/Palestine sheds light on what is wrong all over the world. America especially conducts many of these same practices within its own borders and across the globe [and also has a complicit role in most of the situations I just described].

If only our eyes could be opened to see...




If you are interested in learning more:

Adalah: The Discriminatory Laws Database

"Jaffa: from Eminence to Ethic Cleansing" [written by the tour guide I mentioned]

Anti-African Racism in Israel [a compilation of resources from David Sheen]

Jewish Voice for Peace: Israel/Palestine 101 [helpful for understanding the basics]

Humanitarian Situation Deteriorates at Bethlehem Checkpoint 300

Art in Aida.

A twenty minute walk or so from where I live in Bethlehem, right up against the separation barrier/apartheid wall, stands Aida refugee camp. There are 19 registered refugee camps in the West Bank [plus many more in neighboring countries], housing Palestinians who were forcibly removed from their homes during the Nakba of 1948. According to the United Nations Relief and Work Agency for Palestine Refugees in the Near East, "A Palestinian refugee camp is defined as a plot of land placed at the disposal of UNWRA by the host government to accommodate Palestinian refugees and set up facilities to cater to their needs" (http://www.unrwa.org/palestine-refugees). The residents of these camps hail from villages all over historic Palestine [for example, one of the camps in Bethlehem called Dheisheh house refugees from 45 different villages in the western Jerusalem and western Hebron areas]. 

The living conditions in these camps are typically poorer than surrounding areas--with severe overcrowding, lack of infrastructure, and limited access to resources. For example, Aida covers only 0.71 square kilometers, yet is home to over 4,700 registered refugees. This particular camp is located immediately behind one of the nicest hotels in the area, complete with an expansive swimming pool enjoyed by tourists in the hot summer months. However, residents of the camp often go days and days without any water, which of course serves as an understandable source of tension. In general, refugee camps tend to experience more clashes, highly exacerbated by arbitrary Israeli military raids, often during the middle of the night. It is not unusual for hundreds of soldiers to enter the camp in search of one person to arrest, harassing and seriously harming many others in the process. 

The Wall at the Edge of the Camp 

Entrance to Aida: Through a Symbolic Art Installation 

The other day, a few friends and I visited Aida with an artist who has painted many murals in the camp. He showed us a few of his most recent works, located near the only playground in the area. I recognized this playground from a news report depicting the Israeli military firing tear gas into this play area for children, for literally no reason at all. If this sounds hard to believe, you can watch this video in which the incident was caught on tape: IDF Tear Gas Playground I was surprised to hear our guide explain that he was actually working on the murals when this occurred. 

Here are pictures of a few of the finished murals:

Portrait of famous Palestinian poem Mahmoud Darwish 

The poem reads: "You might be living, you might be dead, you might be like me without an address... There is no value for a human without a homeland, without a flag, without an address." 

The Arabic script translates to: "If we were losing fighters for the cause, then it is better for us to change the fighters not the cause."

"We won't raise the white flags [of surrender], we won't raise but the Palestinian flag to protect the camps."

On one last note, I felt it was really important to hear the artist's rationale for painting on these walls, rather than the wall (how most people refer to the separation barrier mentioned earlier). He explained to us how many international artists come to paint beautiful murals of solidarity and struggle on the wall, but that many Palestinians don't actually support this. In their view, this wall is something extremely ugly that they are aiming to see destroyed. Therefore, it does not really align with their political goals to put effort into making it beautiful. He then told us the story of an international artist who heard this Palestinian perspective halfway through working on his mural on the wall, then decided to paint over it to make a statement to international art activists. Wow, what a meaningful response, demonstrating how important it is to consider the needs/desires of the community as they direct their own struggle of resistance. 

On Language [and Life] Learning.

One of the reasons that I decided to study abroad in Palestine was to improve my Arabic. After five semesters or so of language study in the States, I felt like the necessary next step was to immerse myself in an Arabic-speaking environment overseas. I had some pretty clear ideas about what this would look like ahead of time, but of course my actual experience has differed in a great variety of ways [a common theme]. Overall, learning Arabic here has been a lot more challenging than I anticipated. It took me a while to begin to understand the factors contributing to this, but I have recently come to the realization that many of the difficulties of language-learning correlate in an interesting way with the general challenges of living abroad [and thus, the "life-learning" that comes along with that]. There are many facets to this comparison, a few of which I thought may be valuable to share: 

Beginning with humility allows the most room to grow. Before coming to the Middle East, I felt like I had a fairly good grasp on the language; but I soon realized that I knew far less than I thought, or at least couldn't communicate as well as I had hoped. Part of this is due to the more formal variation of Arabic that I studied--called FusHa, or Modern Standard Arabic (MSA). This register of Arabic is used in scholarly work, the news, and religious texts--but not so much in every day life. Although it is understood by most, it differs pretty substantially from the Arabic dialects spoken on the street [which also differ from country to country, and even sometimes from city to city]. Therefore, in my conversations with Palestinians in their local dialect, it felt like I was starting almost from scratch. The same thing could probably be said about my general understanding of this place, which I think is actually a pretty healthy place to begin. 

To learn, we must take risks. My greatest advice to any language learner [which I honestly need to listen to more myself] is to just jump in and try to use it. This involves getting over the fear of sounding stupid or making mistakes. It means intentionally choosing to be uncomfortable and unsure of yourself. Yet, I am pretty sure there is no better way to learn than to wrestle through the uncertainty and challenging moments, in regards to language and life. Thinking back to pre-living-in-Palestine days, deciding to come here felt like a risk that I wasn't sure I could handle. Although struggles did come, I can confidently say that I have learned and grown an incredible amount through immersing myself in this experience. And that has made it more than worth it.

Perseverance and patience are key in this process. Sometimes once deciding to take a risk and trying my best to communicate in Arabic, I am met with blank stares and end up reverting to English. These instances can be really disheartening. So can spending an hour reading just one Arabic news article and still not understanding half of it. At these times, I can't help but think, "Well, there is no hope I will ever be anywhere near fluent. Maybe I should just give up now..." But then, some wise person usually reminds me that learning is a process, and that I can't expect myself to have everything figured out right now. Those are really good words to hear [in relation to just about everything]. It's also so good to hear that when I reach my limit, it's okay to ask for help. 

And lastly, it's good to reflect on how far we've come. Clearly, I have expressed some frustrations with my Arabic abilities here, but there have been some [if rare] "aha" moments where it feels like the pieces are finally coming together. Sometimes this comes in the form of something as simple as overhearing a conversation and realizing, "Oh hey, I just learned that word in class today!" Or sometimes it helps to remember that I couldn't even imagine reading this swiggly alphabet a few years ago, and now I am writing essays in Arabic about Orientalism and migration patterns and women's rights. I guess that is pretty cool :) Relating this to Palestine/The Middle East/Human Rights/Life in General, I am well aware that I still have a ton to learn, but also I think I have come a long way. I hope I have become more knowledgable, sensitive, and wise--and I really hope I will continue to advance in these ways in the future, inshaAllah. 

I'll leave you with a final quote, a favorite of my good friend and fellow justice-seeker Rob: 

"One does not discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time." --Andre Gide 

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. 

https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/4c/f6/80/
4cf6801a660685d59362bba8ac6454be.jpg

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. 

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/c/c8/K%C3%BCnefe.jpg

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 :)