Outside Nablus

Palestine; some may call it the land of gratuitous tooting. If one is not awoken by the 5am call to prayer, he will be by the sounds of horns blaring as the volume of early morning traffic increases. There are many ways in which the horn is used in Palestine. It is used as a warning to other vehicles and pedestrians that a vehicle is approaching. It is used to express annoyance at a fellow car who has cut you off. It is used to encourage the person in front of you to go faster. It is used if the person in front of you stops in the middle of the road to let passengers off. It is directed toward (I can only assume) Allah when one is locked in a traffic jam. It is used by others when the taxi you are in continually drives on the wrong side of the road to avoid the traffic jams. It is used and sustained for sometimes up to 15 seconds if someone gets in your way. I would estimate that 85% of the time it accomplishes nothing and only winds people up. Hospital beds are laden with taxi drivers suffering from stress related illnesses. Palestinian road rules, or lack thereof, is something I will probably never used to. Nonetheless, if you want to see the country, you must jump into a vehicle and experience the madness once more. I have been fortunate enough to find myself amongst a bunch of avid travelers volunteering in Nablus. Come the weekend (Thursday and Friday for Project Hopers remember, though Friday and Saturday for most in Nablus), it is not uncommon for some kind of trip to be taking place somewhere around the West Bank.

Another trip to Sebastia, this time with my camera.

Hebron is a city at the bottom of the West Bank. It is the location of a few key holy sites, the most significant being a mosque containing the tomb of Abraham/Ibrahim and Sarai (maybe). Right next to the mosque is perhaps the most important synagogue in the West Bank. There was something odd about the presence of a soldier with a gun in the synagogue as people prayed and read the Torah nearby.

Abraham's tomb. RIP.

The site of Abraham's tomb contains one of the most significant mosques and synagogues alongside one another. This is a shot of the synagogue.

Hebron is also somewhat renowned for having settlements in the middle of the city. Usually settlements are in the hills, separated from arab communities. In Hebron, there is a checkpoint in the middle of the city, leading to a central street that contains primarily Jewish settlements. Needless to say, the area has been the site of numerous scuffles over the decades. We visited one Palestinian house located in the middle of the settlements, and it became clear through his stories that living there was close to impossible. Whether it was desperation or an attachment to his home that encouraged him to stay I was not sure. After his sad stories he indicated that he had a range of products for sale in his living room, which resulted in a long and awkward silence amongst the group. What do you say or do when an individual's desperate situation is used to push you into buying something you don't want? The long silence suggested that no one knew the answer to this question.

Check point in the middle of the city

Hebron city

View from the house we visited, complete with IDF neighbours.

New settlements going up mid city.

Palestine couscous is a uniquely chunky variety of couscous. It is called 'muftool' in Arabic, or muftooooooooouull as one shop owner encouraged me to pronounce it. I remember the pronunciation by recalling the cricket commentator from the Playstation game Shane Warne's cricket, who would always pronounce Simon Doull's name 'Doooooouullll'.  "Doooooouullll, steaming in." Muftoooooouull. Last week a few of us visited the fair trade factory just north of Nablus in Burqin. I had been buying Palestine couscous, or political couscous as I liked to call it, for a number of years, so it was great to go see the factory where it was being made. The visit was one of the more encouraging stories I have heard while in Palestine. 10 years ago, during the intifada, farmers around Nablus were being paid incredibly low sums for their produce (mainly couscous and olives). One individual, i forget his name, started a fair trade initiative in Palestine, a co-op that now includes around 1000 farmers and a well-organised production and export factory. In fact, it was the most organised thing I have witnessed while in Palestine. You can find the products such as couscous, olive oil, soap etc in your local stores. It may be a little bit extra, but it gives the farmers here a much better deal. The produce also has to be driven to the Israeli/West Bank border, unloaded, put into another truck, and driven on. The practical joys of occupation. So, the extra gold coin in cost is understandable. That's the end of my sales pitch. Read more here: http://www.canaanfairtrade.com/burqin.php

Another location I have found really encouraging is the freedom theater in Jenin, a town about 1 hour drive from Nablus. Recently the project hope crew was fortunate enough to meet a member of the PA here. I asked him what Palestinian people could do as a form of resistance, given he promoted non-violence and political peace talks had been ineffective for half a century. His answer, like all his answers, evaded the question somewhat, and the only point I could decipher was that Palestinians should stay in Palestine, which I did not find particularly enlightening. Perhaps they could do something while they wait? Maybe I am not being fair, but I felt like his answer reflected the lack of creative responses to the occupation throughout Palestine. Freedom theatre (along with canaan fair trade to some extent), is an example of creative resistance. The theatre has a school where students can learn to think critically and express their political frustration through drama. It has a full course which students can enroll in to study over the course of a few years, and it also runs youth programs. Productions take place in the theatre each week, and they are often taken on the road and performed around the world.There is, of course, an abundance of creativity in the youth of Palestine, but not many opportunities to express it. Schools are largely parroting institutions, where one learns by rote what the teacher says. The number one complaint I have heard from University students in Nablus is that the school system fails to teach them the intellectual skills they need. I hope there is a cultural revolution in Palestine, and youth are encouraged to think critically and creatively. I hope that this in turn leads to creative resistance, rather than violence or inactivity, which are the two options that seem to exist today. Initiatives like the Freedom Theatre offer me hope, and its therefore no wonder that they receive such a hard time from the IDF. I encourage you to read about them here: http://www.thefreedomtheatre.org/

Inside the theatre.

Next week I head into Jordan to look around and meditate in the desert. I have a meditation attention span of about 10 seconds, but hopefully the sand will help.


   

Inside Nablus

Nablus is a hustling and bustling city of just over 100,000 people. It has two large cliffs on either side of the city which help one's initial orientation significantly.I have slowly found my bearings over the past three weeks in the city. My day often begins with the call to prayer at 5am, which more often than not wakes me up. The volume of the call far outweighs the quality of the speakers used, making it a harsh start to the day. In many ways, the call to prayer represents the religious atmosphere of Nablus. Everyone is a Muslim, there is no concept of not participating in the religion of the culture. Sure, you may get the odd person who is of another religion, but everyone has a religion. Religion is a communal activity, not a choice the individual opts into. The call to prayer is a message to the entire population that it is time for prayer (though some (many?) no doubt go back to sleep in the privacy of their own homes rather than get up).

Felafel sandwiches are 3 shekels here - about $1 NZ, making lunch very easy and very oily. From Saturday to Wednesday I teach, and Thursday and Friday is the weekend. The result of this is that I never know what day it is. Two days a week myself and another volunteer catch a servie (taxi van) to a neighbouring town to teach at a primary school there. Teaching 35 five year olds who don't speak any English is just about as challenging as teaching teenage girls. The principal in Tubas is a well traveled and educated individual who cares passionately about the school and has lost all faith in Palestinian politics. He is great to talk to. Another two days a week a few of us head into the universities to initiate conversations in English with those seeking to improve their speaking skills. This is a highlight, as many of the students have an insightful and thoughtful perspective on Palestine and the world (though most think New Zealand is in Europe somewhere). Although one can run out of things to talk about over the course of a 2 or 3 hour conversation, I have learnt a great deal about Palestinian culture and the thinking patterns of Palestinians. In the afternoons I teach beginner adult classes at 2 hour lessons a pop. I have met a few interesting characters in these classes, and I can't work out whether this is due to cultural differences, or they are just universally strange.Learning how to teach English has been a challenge, but in general people have been very patient and interested in learning. Being patient with my kiwi accent is also a struggle for many, but I am trying hard to pronounce my r's and vowels correctly.

View of Nablus from Project Hope office

The cultural attitude toward foreigners is variable. Many in Nablus are extremely friendly and welcoming, and I have been to dinner at a few homes now. People are often fascinated to know where you have come from, why you are here, and what you think of Palestinians. "Do you think we are all terrorists back home" is a common question I get. I guess that's the way they understand their image to be overseas, which probably does not do a great deal of good to the self-esteem of a nation. Others, fewer in number, seem less welcoming of foreigners, probably wondering what on earth you are doing here and suspicious of your links with Israel. I think it is harder to be a female tourist here, as you generate a lot more attention. I am yet to walk through the streets in indistinguishable drag, but I have walked with other female volunteers which has led me to this conclusion. It was interesting spending time at a local's house recently when he asked one of the female volunteers whether she had had any unfavourable attention from the males while in Nablus. When she replied that she had on occasions, one could see his disappointment and annoyance. It is not part of the culture to be rude to women, but there are always a few bad eggs in any country. Overall, there have been times when I have simply wanted a middle ground of indifference; the west tends to ignore everybody rather than welcoming or leering at them. But maybe the numerous experiences of friendliness makes the leering worth while.      

Some local street graffiti.

Nablus is a beautiful place, but I have struggled with the waste system here, perhaps because there is no waste system here. I cannot work out if this is due to occupation, which has disabled Palestine from caring for their own land, or if it is because of the culture of the place. Rubbish litters the streets and countryside, and it is a sorry sight. There is plenty of agriculture, and Palestinians seem quite in touch with the land. Many, too, appreciate the beauty of their land. It is strange, then, that more concern is not placed in preserving this nature and reducing waste and environmental impact. In fact, I believe an organised drive to clean up and care for the land is one of the better acts of resistance that Palestinians could do. I was bold enough to raise the point in the university, and was met with a series of responses bemoaning peoples attitude toward littering. I guess many locals feel the same way. I just wonder if anything will change though. There are many good ideas in Palestine, but sometimes action and organisation is greatly lacking. I've met many environmental engineering students here, I hope they get together and change Palestine's future before it becomes a rubbish dump.

I was asked to give a talk about New Zealand at the university next Wednesday. The university also suggested I make a flyer to promote the event. I couldn't resist the opportunity...

Interested in learning more about 

New Zealand?

Then come to a one time only talk from one of Nablus’ most accessible New Zealand citizens.   

When: Wednesday 27^th February

Where:  An-Najah University: Languages Department.

 

New Zealand: It may be famous for The Lord of the Rings, kiwifruit, and being close to Australia, but there is so much more…

 

Kafr Qaddum

For over 2 years now, every Friday, a small group of people gather to protest in the small village of Kafr Qaddum. One of the ways that settlements impact on Palestinians is that they often divide and isolate small communities. In Kafr Qaddum's case, the direct road from the village to the city of Nablus was restricted to settler use only, meaning that the locals had to drive an extra 14km around the settlement every time they wanted to go to Nablus. This is not only impractical for locals, but perilous should an ambulance be urgently needed in the village. And so, locals gather to protest every Friday after mosque.

Early stages of the protest, in which tires are burnt to, hmmm, produce dark smoke?

Rock throwing has long been a classic image of Palestinian resistance. Many see it as an expression of resistance by a people who are being significantly out-muscled. It is a pastime that is particularly popular amongst the youth of Palestine. When I arrived at Kafr Qaddum, then, I was not surprised to find a small group of young children at the front burning tires and throwing rocks at soldiers close by. For a while I wondered if this was it - a small group of kids throwing rocks at soldiers who, most likely, had absolutely no desire to be there at all.  As the afternoon progressed, however, a large group of adult men emerged from the mosque down the road to participate in the protest. The strategy seemed simple; march up the road chanting slogans, get tear gassed once you get too close to the soldiers, and run back again coughing and spluttering. Repeat ten or twenty times. This was, of course, far too boring for the teenagers, who sought to sneak up the banks alongside the road to get a better shot at soldiers with their stones. I can only imagine this was quite a thrill for the teenage boys, who probably dreamed all week of throwing that perfect shot.

I do not really know where to begin in articulating the problems I had with this protest. Let me start with the stone throwing. I can understand how one might defend the action as a humble means of resistance in the face of overwhelming odds. My problem with it is threefold; number one, it is obviously largely ineffective. Most of the stones fell well short of the soldiers, and the very rare accurate shot would hardly inflict much damage. Number two, it legitimates any use of force by the IDF. It is much easier to defend the use of tear gas and aggression by the IDF if it is in response to violence and aggression. Third, and most importantly in my mind, it incites hatred and aggression in the minds of young Palestinian children. While understandable, such hatred is not helpful for creating a better future.

 

Then there is the risk of turning media attention into dubious propaganda. Before I attended the protest I was told that the IDF had injured innocent people at protests, going so far as to teargas a 2 year old girl. The reality was quite different. If you take a 2 year old girl into such a protest and stand next to a bunch of kids throwing rocks, of course your daughter is going to get hurt. Such a result says just as much about the organisation and tactics of the protest as it does the actions of the IDF. I felt myself quite sickened as I witnessed a bunch of press snapping close ups of a young boy balling his eyes out after tripping over while running away from tear gas. Such shots are simply being dishonest if they are used to emphasise the violence of the IDF and promote the innocence of the Palestinians. They therefore diminish the integrity of the argument for Palestine. Since getting here I've heard many things about the evils of Israel that I cannot help but be suspicious about. It's not that they are necessarily untrue; many are half-truths - events retold with significant bias. Of course, I've also read some incredible Israeli propaganda. In fact, it seems hard to trust anyone.

    

I could not help but think of Martin Luther King as I witnessed this farce. He rightly saw that moral argument was the black communities best weapon, and that only non-violence would sustain that weapon. Any retaliation or act of violence would make void any moral claim of injustice. The protests he organised had to be non-violent to be effective. They were also well-organised - people stuck together and had a specific goal, whether it be marching to a specific location or creating boycotts that would have a crippling effect. Here too, the moral argument is the best weapon the Palestinians have, far more powerful than rocks.

I can now see why Robert Fisk described the confrontation between armed Israeli soldiers and young Palestinian children as one of the more depressing scenes of his journalism career. The scene seemed hopelessly pointless to me, and rather than addressing injustice it merely encouraged hatred on both sides. I imagine the youth felt pretty tough after throwing stones and getting tear gassed. I also imagine their actions had more to do with feeling tough than they did confronting the injustice of being barred from using a main road so important for the community. In fact, the whole thing felt more like a macho fest on both sides than it did a legitimate protest. Again, King rightly saw that the mindset behind the protests was as important as the actions of the protests themselves. If the actions inspire hatred or a feeling of superiority amidst the protesters, all hope was lost. Non-violence is not just refraining from the desire to be violent, but having no desire to be violent in the first place.

Just to the left of the protest this little farce was taking place. God knows what those teenagers were trying to achieve other than a delusional feeling of courage. 

I believe it is not right that the people of Kafr Qaddum may not use the main road to Nablus. I also know that similar cases of injustice happen all over the West Bank, and that each symbolises the unjust nature of the occupation. But until protests become well-organised, purposeful and non-violent I have no desire to participate. Encouraging females to join wouldn't hurt either.

Some early reflections on occupation: A bit of context

Palestine is an occupied territory. I think it is important to remember this. Living in an occupied territory means that you feel dis-empowered and disconnected from your land. It means that you are constantly having your right to be mobile within your own land infringed upon. It means that basic resources such as water are taken away from you and given to your occupiers. It means that you have to watch the gradual colonisation of your land as new settlements are built. It breeds resentment and a bitterness that is difficult to overcome.

In 1948 the country was partitioned into two states - an Israeli state and a Palestinian state. This was a controversial bisection in itself, Palestinians feeling like they had just lost half their land. Violence existed between the two states for the next 20 years but finally erupted into a decisive war in 1967. It was in 1967 that Israel occupied Gaza, East Jerusalem and the West Bank. Since then, the debate has largely revolved around a fair and balanced two-state solution. Any questioning of the existence of Israel now seems archaic and unrealistic, though many Palestinians do still reject the existence of an Israeli state. Most supporters of Palestine (and the United Nations) are pushing for a two-state solution that will return to the pre 1967 status quo. This would see a withdrawal of Israeli troops from Palestine, a free and independent Palestinian state with East Jerusalem as its capital, and free Palestinian access to Old Jerusalem, where Muslims can access holy sites such as Al' Aqsa mosque and The Dome of the Rock. Seems like an easy decision doesn't it?

Taken from http://markmartinezshow.blogspot.com

The strong perspectives on either side seem somewhat understandable. It is understandable that the Jewish people sought a homeland in the 19th century in the wake of persistent persecution across Europe. It is understandable that this search became more militant after the holocaust and Jews became more determined to secure their own state at any cost. It is understandable that Europe felt guilty after World War Two and assisted Israel in the creation of an independent state. It is understandable that Palestinians in return felt completely forgotten about as they watched a significant chunk of their land being given to someone else. It is understandable that some turned to violence as a form of resistance after the 1967 war. It is understandable that Jews felt once more under attack as rockets flew into their territory, and thus only darkened their opinion of their neighbours (though, to be sure, 'terrorist acts' have occurred on both sides since 1945). It is understandable that Palestinians in turn grew increasingly angry as occupation of their land intensified and pathetic peace deals were offered. How can one overcome these deep wounds of history? And what right do I, arriving from the other side of the world, have in insisting that both sides transcend their differences and create a peaceful resolution. Will Israel really relinquish its power? Can Palestine really overcome its feeling of injustice?     

Add to this the less reasonable fact that Israeli settlements continue to flourish in Palestine. The incentive behind settlers is either ideological or economic. Some wish to pursue new economic opportunities; land is cheap to buy in settlements and employment opportunities exist for those struggling to find work in Israel. Others have an ideological and/or religious desire to see Palestine disappear completely and see settlements as a means of gradually extending the state of Israel. I find this one of the more unreasonable perspectives in the conflict. It also, of course, makes peace even more difficult. What happens to such settlements should a Palestinian State be created and the IDF withdraw from the West Bank?

Add to this too the interests of other countries in the conflict. Such interests are beyond my knowledge and understanding, but it is hard to believe other countries meddling in the affair do not have interests of their own impeding any hope of peace.

I guess I write this scrappy political overview as a backdrop for future posts. Behind anything I do or see in Nablus is this difficult history. It constantly comes up in conversation - Palestinians want to know what you think. I have met a range of views here in Nablus; some violent appeals for justice, some impressive appeals for peace. My favourite story so far was of a friend of one of the volunteers here. He used to live in the countryside where he owned quite a bit of land, which he used to grow olive trees. Soon enough a new settlement was built nearby. He visited early on to offer a gift of some olive oil from his trees, which was promptly rejected. Later on settlers burnt his olive trees. He is a friendly guy and now lives in Nablus. When asked why he would possibly do such an act he replied, "They were my neighbours." Such love is rare in this world. Some might call it naive.

To Nablus

"I love and trust people. My love and trust may at times be unwise, but I prefer the risk".
             -Stanley Hauerwas.

I awoke early on Saturday morning. It was my third day in Jerusalem, and I felt more familiar with the geography and the culture. I walked through the Muslim Quarter like I was a local, although the large pack on my back and a small one on my front probably gave me away. I needed to go out of Old Jerusalem through Damascus Gate (the most popular gate) and up the road to the bus stop. I had been quoted 30 shekels to Ramallah by an internet site, but a lady at reception at Ecce Homo quoted me 18. The bus stop looked more like a large car park where buses slept for the night, a sight I would soon become familiar with in Nablus. I found a bus that said 'Ramallah direct' and, although it was not the number I was told to catch, the driver assured me it was to Ramallah. He charged me 8 shekels; bus prices seemed to have had deflated by 200% in the space of a morning. I had no idea if I was on the right bus, but I assumed I was, and we were at least heading North. I knew I was on the right track when we passed a sign declaring that we were entering Palestinian territory and Israelis should not enter due to the risk of being killed. We drove alongside a fence for some time before I realised that this was the famous separation barrier built by Israel in an attempt to secure themselves from suicide bombers. It was heavily graffitied with slogans such as 'one wall, two prisons' and 'now that I have seen I am responsible'.  Hmmm, I had heard that second quote before. I felt confusedly at home when I finally clicked that they were Brooke Fraser lyrics. I wonder if she knows her songs are plastered on the Israeli-Palestine separation barrier.

A picture of the separation wall. *Google's picture, not mine*

 

Driving in Israel and Palestine is fascinating. I enjoy 5 hour bus rides across New Zealand, so you can imagine how interested I am driving through a foreign and markedly different country. For a while, the person to my right spoke to me in Arabic before it finally became clear that I had no idea what he was talking about. He then spoke to me in English, saying something about speaking differently up ahead. I had no idea what he meant. I smiled and nodded and murmured. He gave up speaking to me. A half hour later the chap to my right, who was around my age, had a go. Being a good English speaker, he was far more successful. He took a liking to me for two reasons 1) His love of God inspired him to help others (and I probably looked like I needed help) and 2) I looked like his brother. Blending in was to my advantage, he assured me, because it meant I was less likely to be financially exploited by opportunist locals. He also told me to keep a firm and stern face to earn the locals' respect. I was learning fast. My next step after arriving in Ramallah was to find the bus stop. I had no idea how to do this, but my new friend offered to help, and I saw no reason to distrust him. He led me to the bus station, found the bus to Nablus, gave me a blessing, and shook my hand. Ramallah appeared to have a hard edge to it, I could see his point about remaining stern. His actions, however, were indicative of the type of hospitality and kindness I would find in Nablus.    

I arrived in Nablus and began looking for a cab to take me to my final destination. After a confusing taxi ride featuring puzzled looks and communication breakdowns I finally stumbled across Project Hope. I was charged 10 shekels, a reasonably cheap price I thought for a taxi. I tried to tip him a few shekels for his patience but he refused, probably because, as I would later discover, he should really have charged me only a few shekels, and probably felt he could only rip me off to a certain extent before feeling guilty.I was happy, I had made it easily enough. I went inside to meet the organisation.

A shot from my apartment (standing on the fence, so not a typical view).

Posters of some local martyrs. There are many around the city.

From my apartment at night.

Nablus is one of the larger cities in the West Bank. It has a long history, and parts of the city date back to the time of Roman occupation. The Old City is beautiful, and contains an abundance of rock almost rivaling Jerusalem. It is famous for its Kanafa - a sweet treat on a cheesy base - and its manufacture of soap. For a close up view of the city I recommend the film 'Paradise Now', which is set in Nablus. My initial tour was given by a man named Anas, who took great pleasure in pointing out the sites of certain scenes in the film. The excitement was reciprocal, and he appreciated my enthusiasm for the film. The subsequent two days in Nablus would feel more like a week. I became more settled in the city each passing minute, and very quickly made friends with the other volunteers. I live in a boys flat, which has boy flat traits and looks decidedly different to the girls flat. Needless to say, the boys are very amazed and jealous whenever they visit the girls flat. The decision to bring a sleeping bag with me on my travels has paid of. The flat reaches Dunedin level temperatures at night. Stone buildings with high ceilings don't exactly retain the heat.

My introduction to Nablus had gone relatively smoothly. In no time at all I felt friendly with the other volunteers, who are a great bunch of people. But I had a lot to learn; the Arabic language, local customs, how to teach English to beginners, and a complicated political history to name a few.

The following shots are from Sebastia - a rural village built amidst Roman ruins. Another volunteer - Ben - took the shots. 

Postcard in the Sebastia tourist shop

Old Roman columns to the left, Palestinian olive trees to the right.

Roman ruins and donkey.

Roman amphitheater

Sebastia football field.

Old Roman Church in Sebastia

More recent tractor in Sebastia

Jerusalem

Jerusalem. The holy city. The city tuned into the big cheese. Trust the most religious place on earth to be riddled with ethnic and religious conflict and divisions. For over two thousand years no less. I guess taking stuff seriously can bring out the worst in people, and sometimes the best too hopefully.

I began my journey into Jerusalem by strolling down via dolorosa road, a lot more peacefully than a bloke I know did 2000 years ago. The first thing that strikes you about Old Jerusalem is the abundance of stone. The stone is old and beautiful and everywhere. Buildings and paths blend into each other. Sometimes merely walking down a set of steps reveals a scene of beauty. The city is surrounded by walls, as is well known from famous events of history. I didn't know where to go at first, so I just walked. I saw some strange things. A priest walking arm in arm with a woman. A baby faced monk exiting a "supercharged skin" clinic. T-shirts that would get you killed if you wore them in Palestine. T-shirts that would get you killed if you wore them in Israel. Remember, Jerusalem is the melting pot of discontent. I decided to make my first "holy stop" at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher.

Via Dolorosa road - my street

Jerusalem is a place where devotion and tourism but heads frequently. It is not uncommon to witness an individual on their knees in prayer in front of an icon, while another individual leans over them to snap that perfect shot. I didn't know quite where I sat myself. I tried to take subtle pictures of the church, where no one was around, and sought to capture the feeling and style of the Church, rather than merely snap the tourist attractions. At one point I joined a queue to enter a holy sanctuary commemorating the sight where Jesus was supposedly crucified. As I did so, a bit of my Martin Luther came out. Not much, because there is very little in me, but a bit of his suspicion for the sacred relic, particularly when it draws a crowd of keen sightseers. To my left I spied a small group of Christians beginning a small liturgical service. There were about 10 of them. I had no idea what denomination they were, or whether I could join. I think they were Italian Catholics with Franciscan leanings conducting a liturgy in Latin. Neither am I quite sure what denomination I am. I put non-denominational down on the recent census, but I guess only a protestant can call themselves non-denominational. I guess, too, that only a protestant would feel like sincerity rather than membership was the most important thing for joining such a group. I lit a candle and stood at the back - how bad could that be? Things got more intense as we started migrating around the church, visiting the different holy icons and singing and chanting in Latin. I was happy to participate in this, but was I welcome? I decided that the only thing more disrespectful than lighting a candle and joining such a fellowship would be to blow the candle out and leave halfway through the service. I carried on. Things then got even more intense as we proceeded to make our way up a set of stairs, and I began to realise that a large crowd of about 100 tourists had gathered to film and take pictures of our small group of devotees. Would they pick the fraud near the back who had no idea what was going on, aside from the fact that it was important not to burn his fingers with dripping wax. In an attempt to look authentic, I tried to hum along and sing words that I knew, which unfortunately consisted only of "amen." I probably looked like i was trying to reenact a Mr Bean sketch. I made it around the entire church with that group, but finally caved when they entered the chapel and pulled out the wafers. My candle was already out by then, so I banged it in my pocket and ducked on out of there. Ecumenism so came to an end.  

View from outside the church of the Holy Sepulcher

Down a hallway

There are lots of little rooms all around the Church

I had been trying to find the balance between looking confident while being cautious enough to not make a complete fool of myself. I decided I needed to give myself a bit of grace. I was a new and inexperienced traveler, by myself, in a place riddled with taboos and strong opinions. I must say though, entering the female section of the Western Wall really was a gaff I wish I had not made. I think I also accidentally donated a shekel to the Israeli army as I walked though the Jewish Quarter. Again I felt myself torn between devotee and tourist as I gazed upon a site that is closely tied to the roots of my faith. I also felt myself of mixed emotions. Here is a site that has inspired devotion both beautiful and destructive. I love the Jewish faith, but it has become so entangled with military Zionism in this place that I find it hard to participate in.

The Western Wall

My final stop was the Mount of Olives. I had missed out on the Holy Mount, Friday being the Muslim holy day. I got lost and wandered around a graveyard for a while, attracting strange looks, but eventually found a rather large and obvious tourist entrance I had strolled past earlier. It was a great site, very simple with a series of churches near by. I enjoyed a cup of coffee at a coffee shop just above the site, paying 10 shekels for what I think was instant coffee.

The Mount of Olives

My time in Jerusalem was drawing to an end. It was time for one more crow riddled sleepless night before I ventured north to Nablus.   

Shot of Old Jerusalem from just outside the walls.

Arrival/Jerusalem Part 1

I intended for Israel and Palestine to be my primary destinations over the course of the year. The plan was to stay in Israel and Palestine for 3 to 6 months, doing a couple of different volunteer stints and having a good look around. Customs at Tel Aviv is notorious, and I had thought long and hard about what to say at the border. Talking to a range of people and doing a bit of research, I decided that honesty was the best policy. Perhaps I was wrong. I got my visa on arrival, but only for one month - a third of what a standard tourist visa offers. I was gutted. Perhaps I should not have volunteered information about volunteering so voluntarily. The customs official leered at me when I told her part of my trip involved Nablus. I am not sure if her look represented contempt, or bewilderment at my honesty. Hopefully I can sort something out down the line to stay longer.

After catching a shared taxi from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem I was pointed in the direction of Damascus Gate, the entrance to Old Jerusalem. Jerusalem was once divided into two, Israel controlling the West and Palestine the East. Old Jerusalem is full of most things famous about Jerusalem, and was intended to be neutral ground. In 1967, Israel occupied East Jerusalem and made it part of Israel, and access to either Old Jerusalem or East Jerusalem was no longer possible for Palestinians living outside the post 1967 war borders. Yet, even though under Israeli control, and even though no other Palestinians can come in, there is still a significant Arab population who have remained living here, and a strong Muslim culture. In fact, everyone is here; Muslims, Jews, Christians of every denomination, and each have their own section with their own distinct flavour within the old city. It is generally common to find a mixture of faiths in any area, though I do not believe it is always in the spirit of solidarity that such mingling takes place. The mixture of faiths brings tension rather than harmony. There are also a bunch of tourists, and a bunch of IDF troops with guns wandering around, so it is an interesting place.

In my attempt to find my hostel I stumbled across this Bar Mitzvah celebration in the Jewish Quarter. 

My entrance to Jerusalem has generally been proceeded by a series of social gaffs, which I may or may not divulge over the course of the next couple of posts. Firstly, I entered wearing shorts, promptly realising that I was literally the only person in the city wearing shorts. I quickly ducked into a back alley toilet to put some trousers on, only to find that customs had put my pack inner into my pack upside down, whether absentmindedly or maliciously I am not sure (there was an Arabic dictionary in the pack). I pulled the pack inner out, thus pouring all my belongings into my pack, and burrowed down for some trousers. Attired in a more fitting manner, I set out to get lost in the city, something I would do a few times over a couple of days. The city is essentially a labyrinth that feels more like a giant market than a city. I eventually found my hostel, and discovered that it was located on the street that Jesus was thought to have walked down with a cross on his back. I briefly thought to myself how appropriate this was before quickly deciding that nothing was really appropriate about such a connection. Significant is probably a better description. My accommodation at Ecce Homo convent/hostel would generally be positive, with the exception of having roosters with no concept of time as my neighbours. I am pretty sure they kept mistaking the Dome of the Rock for the rising sun, which would explain their unceasing crowing throughout the night. Perhaps Jesus used the crowing of the cock to aid Peter's realisation of betrayal because, like me, hatred toward such birds was firmly etched into Peter's mind. Needless to say, I would get very little sleep over the next couple of nights.

View from my hostel.

Having checked in, I was ready to investigate the city in more depth. There were many things to see, and only two days to do it in.