(Again by Ori, but it counts for me, too)
As i find myself typing from an internet cafe in
jerusalem, it is hard to imagine that only this
morning we were moving out of our apartment in amman.
classes finished earlier this week and as our
classmates began to leave for home or more traveling,
we thought that we, too, should make our exit. For me
it was a good excuse to try to see friends in hebron
who i haven't seen in years and for tov it meant that
she would have some help carrying her bags and getting
situated in her new home (which is temporarily in a
hostel in the old city).
it was more diffucult than i had imagined to say
goodbye to amman - our friends at the university,
acquaintences at local haunts, etc. just when we were
mastering the public transportation system and finding
wonderful shops and restaurants off the beaten track
it was time to leave. i am already trying to plan in
my mental calendar of how soon i can return.
what i will miss most are jordanians. people are
always eager to talk to you - to practice their
english or to find out if you are an intellegence
officer (they love conspiracy theories and assume that
any non-arab spending more than a night in amman is a
spy) - it fuels conversations to enjoy over coffee and
argilehs (hubbly bubbly or hookahs). jordanians are
polite in a way i have never experienced - maybe
because i am from boston and generally sheilded from
good will from strangers, but everyone is more than
helpful when it comes to asking for
directions/assistance, to the point where you will
sometimes have to take a minute to drink some coffee
or tea in a store that offered directions or advice
before continuing on to the actual destination. it is
the kind of place where people will offer you whatever
they have without any questions, and people feel
comfortable coming up to you and asking for something
- not for money or anything that resembles begging,
but if you have a water bottle and someone is thirsty,
they will approach you asking for a sip, or to borrow
a pen or read a part of the newspaper.
i think i am also being a little nostalgic after a
traumatic border crossing experience that has left me
very fond of jordan and quite resentful of israel. we
were told that the border crossing process, especially
at the allenby/king hussein bridge than at the 2 other
israel-jordan bridges, is a lengthy process that can
take 7 hours with various security actions. maybe i
should be greatful for it only taking 6 1/2 hours for
us to make it from amman to jerusalem - a distance of
about 80km that should take 1 hour by car. on several
occasions today israelis would take our passports for
'further investigation' - into what i have no idea, as
we submitted our plane tickets, told them that we had
lived in jerusalem before, had friends there, etc. we
were speaking in english since, although we are both
pretty fluent in hebrew, it has been supressed with
arabic grammer and colloquial to the extent that we
were feeling more than rusty switching gears to a new
language. out of frustration, when we would finally
speak in hebrew (because of course we still remembered
how to complain in hebrew), the security workers would
invariably looked shocked and ask if we were jewish.
when we said 'yes' (duh at tova's name) they would get
a look on their face like 'oh shit, we've been
harassing jews for hours instead of speeding them
through the line' and they would apologize and make it
seem like the security searches and unnecessary
scrutiny was more routine and anything other than
unjustifiable harassment from them treating us like
all of the other arabs around us - although you could
see in their faces and actions that they did not look
at us or our bags or ask a single question after
learning the jewish bit. welcome to israel where you
must declare your unique 'birthright' in order to get
treated with any sort of respect or dignity.
after spending about 4 hours experiencing a tiny
amount of what non-jews go through over here, i cannot
wait to get back to amman. maybe its the shania twain
playing in the background of the internet cafe and my
own frustration of being much more comfortable
speaking in arabic than hebrew, but i hope to move on
from west jerusalem as soon as possible. tova will be
working/interning at an NGO based in tantour, a small
village between jerusalem and bethlehem and today we
are beginning the apartment search (beginning with
ducking into a bookstore to find a dictionary for the
hebrew word for apartment - first things first). now
we're set to go although it is weird to think of us
parting ways after 2 months of being so close. i
think we could both use the space, though....
after some food, some caffine, and a shower i will
probably have a much rosier perspective on being back
here, but for now i long for the middle east and not
the bubble of jerusalem that is caught between being
an ancient city and a modern recreation of american
consumerism.
sorry to end on such a low note,
ori
Thursday, August 26, 2004
Thursday, August 19, 2004
On Being in an Evil Place
(ORI WROTE THIS, BUT IT GIVES YOU A GOOD SENSE OF WHAT WEÂ’VE BEEN UP TO,
SINCE I HAVE BEEN CRAPPYÂ…)
Having just returned from Syria, I can confidently conclude that if
there is any evil lurking in the country, it is more than compensated
for by the friendliness of Syrians and the kilos of delicious ice cream
and sweets that tempt you every 5 meters in Damascus - how cavities
aren't a national crisis there I don't know.
Tova, Mike, and I were all able to obtain the often-elusive US visa to
Syria (after a somewhat complicated diplomatic mission on Mike's part,
having to shuttle between the Syrian and US embassies in Amman to obtain
arbitrary documents for the sake of
both sides wanting to be difficult & having to swear on his first born
child/bible/life to the Syrians that he has never been to "Occupied
Palestine" – they didn't believe him although every American I know who
got a visa without question has been there at least 2 times).
The easiest way to get to Syria is by a shared taxi and for some reason,
all of the taxis are large Buick and Chevy sedans from the early 70s -
not the most fuel-efficient mode of transportation, but a styling ride.
Our taxi was particularly impressive as, when we stopped at the duty
free store between the Jordanian and Syrian borders, we learned that the
back passenger door was hollow and the inside panel could be unscrewed
to store (or embezzle, depending on your perspective) 20+ cartons of
cigarettes. Fortunately we were not stopped by the Syrian customs
officers and the Syrian black market is all the stronger for it. (I
relayed this story to a friend today who one-upped my by telling me that
in a taxi from Iraq to Jordan the car was stopped and instead of
contraband cigarettes the authorities uncovered an impressive arsenal of
kalishnikovs and pistols - emphasizing the range of gray areas of
conspiracies and trafficking).
Damascus was amazing - the city has so much history and character -
especially in comparison to Amman, which is modern and quiet and less
than 20% of the population identifies as being Jordanian. Unfortunately,
part of Damascus' character is marred by the obscene level of pollution,
mostly from the run-down cars that crowd the streets and the lack of
interest in any sort of environmental concern. In Syria (as in Jordan),
littering is commonplace. The justification for it is that the presence
of litter everywhere causes the need for clean up and, hence, job
creation. I still can't throw trash on the street, but I will place it
neatly in a pile of existing refuse, to lessen the strain of the street
cleaners. There are some customs here I just can't adapt to.
Of our 4 days in/around Damascus, I think the most memorable moment was
when we were in Busra (a small town in the south that is home to a large
and incredibly preserved roman amphitheatre, citadel, and old city). We
arrived in the morning at the same time as a local school group and,
when a few of the students figured out that Tov and I could speak
Arabic, we found ourselves surrounded by 50 students, all asking
questions at the same time about what America was like, if we had ever
heard of osama bin laden, if we knew Eminem and Dr. Dre personally, and
if we knew their relatives who were computer engineers somewhere in
America, although they couldn't remember the specifics of where they
lived. We must have spoken with them for an hour, ending with their
teachers (literally) pulling them away and an exchange of email
addresses and phone numbers. Needless to say, there are not many
Americans in Syria (or at least open-Americans, although there are
several with assumed Canadian identities) and this was probably the
first time that most if not all of these kids had a chance to talk to
Americans and learn that we have opinions very different from those of
Bush and Rumsfeld and that there are Americans who do not hate/fear the
middle east and that there are even a few who aren't Muslim or Arab but
know about Islam and can speak Arabic and just want to have a good time
like Syrians and eat ice cream and listen to pop music and do regular
things.
The other striking thing about Damascus was the number of Iranians
there. Damascus is home to the Great Umayyad Mosque, the 3rd holiest
mosque in Islam and particularly important to Shi'i Muslims as the
mosque not only claims to have john the BaptistÂ’s head (also holy to
Muslims for his relationship with the prophet Jesus), but also Imam
Hussein's head (a descendent of Muhammad who was murdered at Karbala - a
city again in the news over 1,400 years later). With the majority of
Iranians being Shi'a, Damascus is one of the primary tourist/pilgrimage
destinations. It was odd not only being one of the few western tourists
in Damascus, but often being surrounded by a group of 50 Iranians - all
the women wrapped in black chadors - with digital cameras, silly tourist
souvenirs, and wailing with overwhelming emotion at the shrines of
important figures in islamic/shi'i history. Amman seems incredibly
liberal and clean and sterile in comparison.
I think that's just about the jist of Syria – we didn't find any evil or
even rudeness. I don't know how the axes of evil maintain their cabal,
but I don't think that most Syrians feel any allegiance to North Korea,
Iran, or any substantive animosity towards the 'coalition of the
willing' or the us in general. A little bit of a let-down, but how
could anyone be expected to be malicious while enjoying the ubiquitous
fresh waffle cone of vanilla ice cream covered in crushed pistachios? I
swear that if Bush had a taste he would drop this whole war-making mess.
Life in the Middle East is a balancing act – of balancing an autocratic
government whose functions and interests are too often far removed from
the public
needs or interests with an intense practice of enjoying life - of
spending time with family and (new) friends over an argileh, coffee,
pastries, fresh fruit, and always animated conversations.
I can't believe that I only have 2 more weeks here before returning to
the land of shopping malls and processed food (and tank tops and spicy
Chinese food, I guess a different sort of social balancing act...)
Illa Likum,
Ori & Tov (and mike)
SINCE I HAVE BEEN CRAPPYÂ…)
Having just returned from Syria, I can confidently conclude that if
there is any evil lurking in the country, it is more than compensated
for by the friendliness of Syrians and the kilos of delicious ice cream
and sweets that tempt you every 5 meters in Damascus - how cavities
aren't a national crisis there I don't know.
Tova, Mike, and I were all able to obtain the often-elusive US visa to
Syria (after a somewhat complicated diplomatic mission on Mike's part,
having to shuttle between the Syrian and US embassies in Amman to obtain
arbitrary documents for the sake of
both sides wanting to be difficult & having to swear on his first born
child/bible/life to the Syrians that he has never been to "Occupied
Palestine" – they didn't believe him although every American I know who
got a visa without question has been there at least 2 times).
The easiest way to get to Syria is by a shared taxi and for some reason,
all of the taxis are large Buick and Chevy sedans from the early 70s -
not the most fuel-efficient mode of transportation, but a styling ride.
Our taxi was particularly impressive as, when we stopped at the duty
free store between the Jordanian and Syrian borders, we learned that the
back passenger door was hollow and the inside panel could be unscrewed
to store (or embezzle, depending on your perspective) 20+ cartons of
cigarettes. Fortunately we were not stopped by the Syrian customs
officers and the Syrian black market is all the stronger for it. (I
relayed this story to a friend today who one-upped my by telling me that
in a taxi from Iraq to Jordan the car was stopped and instead of
contraband cigarettes the authorities uncovered an impressive arsenal of
kalishnikovs and pistols - emphasizing the range of gray areas of
conspiracies and trafficking).
Damascus was amazing - the city has so much history and character -
especially in comparison to Amman, which is modern and quiet and less
than 20% of the population identifies as being Jordanian. Unfortunately,
part of Damascus' character is marred by the obscene level of pollution,
mostly from the run-down cars that crowd the streets and the lack of
interest in any sort of environmental concern. In Syria (as in Jordan),
littering is commonplace. The justification for it is that the presence
of litter everywhere causes the need for clean up and, hence, job
creation. I still can't throw trash on the street, but I will place it
neatly in a pile of existing refuse, to lessen the strain of the street
cleaners. There are some customs here I just can't adapt to.
Of our 4 days in/around Damascus, I think the most memorable moment was
when we were in Busra (a small town in the south that is home to a large
and incredibly preserved roman amphitheatre, citadel, and old city). We
arrived in the morning at the same time as a local school group and,
when a few of the students figured out that Tov and I could speak
Arabic, we found ourselves surrounded by 50 students, all asking
questions at the same time about what America was like, if we had ever
heard of osama bin laden, if we knew Eminem and Dr. Dre personally, and
if we knew their relatives who were computer engineers somewhere in
America, although they couldn't remember the specifics of where they
lived. We must have spoken with them for an hour, ending with their
teachers (literally) pulling them away and an exchange of email
addresses and phone numbers. Needless to say, there are not many
Americans in Syria (or at least open-Americans, although there are
several with assumed Canadian identities) and this was probably the
first time that most if not all of these kids had a chance to talk to
Americans and learn that we have opinions very different from those of
Bush and Rumsfeld and that there are Americans who do not hate/fear the
middle east and that there are even a few who aren't Muslim or Arab but
know about Islam and can speak Arabic and just want to have a good time
like Syrians and eat ice cream and listen to pop music and do regular
things.
The other striking thing about Damascus was the number of Iranians
there. Damascus is home to the Great Umayyad Mosque, the 3rd holiest
mosque in Islam and particularly important to Shi'i Muslims as the
mosque not only claims to have john the BaptistÂ’s head (also holy to
Muslims for his relationship with the prophet Jesus), but also Imam
Hussein's head (a descendent of Muhammad who was murdered at Karbala - a
city again in the news over 1,400 years later). With the majority of
Iranians being Shi'a, Damascus is one of the primary tourist/pilgrimage
destinations. It was odd not only being one of the few western tourists
in Damascus, but often being surrounded by a group of 50 Iranians - all
the women wrapped in black chadors - with digital cameras, silly tourist
souvenirs, and wailing with overwhelming emotion at the shrines of
important figures in islamic/shi'i history. Amman seems incredibly
liberal and clean and sterile in comparison.
I think that's just about the jist of Syria – we didn't find any evil or
even rudeness. I don't know how the axes of evil maintain their cabal,
but I don't think that most Syrians feel any allegiance to North Korea,
Iran, or any substantive animosity towards the 'coalition of the
willing' or the us in general. A little bit of a let-down, but how
could anyone be expected to be malicious while enjoying the ubiquitous
fresh waffle cone of vanilla ice cream covered in crushed pistachios? I
swear that if Bush had a taste he would drop this whole war-making mess.
Life in the Middle East is a balancing act – of balancing an autocratic
government whose functions and interests are too often far removed from
the public
needs or interests with an intense practice of enjoying life - of
spending time with family and (new) friends over an argileh, coffee,
pastries, fresh fruit, and always animated conversations.
I can't believe that I only have 2 more weeks here before returning to
the land of shopping malls and processed food (and tank tops and spicy
Chinese food, I guess a different sort of social balancing act...)
Illa Likum,
Ori & Tov (and mike)
Monday, August 09, 2004
August 7, 2004 ~ 3:30 am
On the beach in Aqaba, Jordan
Looking out from Aqaba to Israel, Saudi Arabia and Egypt
Thinking about identity and belonging
Sitting with a group of high-brid kids who are trying to discover where
they belong.
I am the only thoroughbred American – and yet I am the one feeling like
my identity is imposed.
Imposed from afar – this superficial connection to a piece of land. To
the Diaspora wanting to return “home”.
All these people are near the homeland of their parents, yet I, the only
one with no connection, am the only one who can easily pass.
Hearing the music of the Israeli clubs in Eilat freely traveling through
the air across the border – without getting stopped and searched and
judged along the way. The fish swim freely from one side to the other –
they know no borders.
I can see the cars driving down the main midrachov. Can they see me? Are
they saying ‘Oh, those Jordanians, those Muslims, those Arabs…’ and
judging me? The same way I once judged the people I now sit with? My
friends? All these Palestinians – the children of children of
Palestine, trying to get back to their homeland. Passed through the
generations. How many more refugee children must wander the dreary
shores of Aqaba, looking to the fun filled city they are refused entry
to?
The same waters polluted by similar peoples, constantly blaming each
other. The same sand. The same waves. The same sky. The same shooting
stars. They can probably see the same fireworks displayed for weddings.
They are just trying to communicate with their families, am I just
intruding?
On the beach in Aqaba, Jordan
Looking out from Aqaba to Israel, Saudi Arabia and Egypt
Thinking about identity and belonging
Sitting with a group of high-brid kids who are trying to discover where
they belong.
I am the only thoroughbred American – and yet I am the one feeling like
my identity is imposed.
Imposed from afar – this superficial connection to a piece of land. To
the Diaspora wanting to return “home”.
All these people are near the homeland of their parents, yet I, the only
one with no connection, am the only one who can easily pass.
Hearing the music of the Israeli clubs in Eilat freely traveling through
the air across the border – without getting stopped and searched and
judged along the way. The fish swim freely from one side to the other –
they know no borders.
I can see the cars driving down the main midrachov. Can they see me? Are
they saying ‘Oh, those Jordanians, those Muslims, those Arabs…’ and
judging me? The same way I once judged the people I now sit with? My
friends? All these Palestinians – the children of children of
Palestine, trying to get back to their homeland. Passed through the
generations. How many more refugee children must wander the dreary
shores of Aqaba, looking to the fun filled city they are refused entry
to?
The same waters polluted by similar peoples, constantly blaming each
other. The same sand. The same waves. The same sky. The same shooting
stars. They can probably see the same fireworks displayed for weddings.
They are just trying to communicate with their families, am I just
intruding?
