August 4th, 2007

Bethlehem, part one

By Melissa Filbin on August 4th, 2007

Authors note: Howdy readers. Thanks for sticking with me! The lack of an update was because I was traveling throughout Israel and often had trouble finding an Internet connection and the time to post an entry. I am safely back in the states now, but I kept a faithful journal of my travels, so the blog will continue. Thanks for reading!

From the beginning of this trip, I was warned away from the West Bank:

“Two words folks: Palestinian Authority. It’s like the Wild Wild West out there.”

“You go there, you get kidnapped.”

I avoided the area, mainly because I didn’t know how to get there safely by myself. That all changed when Katy and I crossed paths.

Katy and I met on a bus and struck up a conversation because we were the only ones in the vicinity speaking English. She is outgoing, pretty and says words such as “tish tish” and “round abouts.” So you can imagine my surprise when this westernized 21-year-old told me she was living in the West Bank town of Bethlehem — by herself.

I immediately flooded her with questions, starting with the obvious, “Isn’t that insanely dangerous?”

“Nope,” she smiled. She must have sensed my shock because she launched into a well-practiced explanation: Palestinians in Bethlehem are friendly, often more so than the intense Israelis, she said. And most of the fighting is in the Gaza Strip and very select areas of the West Bank. It’s safe.

Katy then invited me to visit Bethlehem and the Bible College where she volunteers, and I eagerly accepted her offer. She gave me directions — from Damascus Gate, take an Arab bus to the check point; bring your passport. From there, walk to the college. It was all straight forward enough, I thought to myself.

A week later, I was jammed against the window of an Arab sheruit wondering what I was doing. The small unairconditioned minibus seats 20 people; by my count 31 were riding it. I was one of three females and the only person unveiled. Some man’s leg was pressing against mine, and I was leaning as close as possible against the window, studiously avoiding his eye. A group of middle-aged men were shouting back and forth, with the bus driver occasionally joining in what I can only guess was a debate. As each new man boarded the bus, another horror story about Americans being kidnapped would flash through my mind. I was stereotyping. I was alone. I was afraid.

When we arrived at the checkpoint, my relief at getting off of that bus was palpable. A few men ran ahead to be the first to get in line while the remaining bus passengers slowly walked toward the orange building.

At the checkpoint, we walked through a turnstile and into a terminal with video cameras, x-ray machines and metal detectors. An Israeli soldier sat behind a large glass window checking identification. To get through, a Palestinian holds up his or her ID and the soldier types in an ID number. A picture of the Palestinian pops up on a computer, along with his or her personal information. If the information matches up, the solider waves the person through another turnstile, and the Palestinian then puts his or her hand on a machine that scans fingerprints. I tried to put my hand on the fingerprint reader but was stopped by a kind man.

“No,” he said with laughter in his eyes. “That is for Palestinians.” His voice became quiet and forlorn: “Specifically for Palestinians.” In this region, Big Brother really is watching.

From there, we walked through another turnstile, and I got my first up-close view of the wall. It was large, grey and intimidating, despite the Israel Ministry of Tourism’s bright blue, pink and orange sign that read: “Peace Be with You.”

With a deep breath, I walked under the wall.

To be continued…

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August 2nd, 2007

Haifa

By Melissa Filbin on August 2nd, 2007

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August 2nd, 2007

King Herod’s desert palace - Masada

By Melissa Filbin on August 2nd, 2007

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July 23rd, 2007

Photos from Tel Aviv

By Melissa Filbin on July 23rd, 2007

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July 10th, 2007

War and peace

By Melissa Filbin on July 10th, 2007

It’s early evening and the sky is layered in rich colors— deep pink, orange, yellow. The window of my fourth-story dorm room is thrown wide open and the wind is howling along the side of the building. Slow, melodious Arab music is floating above the noise of the city. And, for the past hour, gun shots have been exploding in a nearby village.

It’s a wedding, some people say. It’s a fight, more people say.

Yet as I walk along the bustling streets of Jerusalem, it’s easy to forget the dangers of this region. Israel feels safe.

At the same time the gunshots are going off, three children are lost in the imaginary world of their front yard, two teenage girls are giggling on their walk home, and a taxi driver is impatiently honking at a car that stopped in front of him — the pulse of the city refuses to pause.

Israel is not the country America sees on the nightly news. Rather, it is a collection of people who have bonded together to make the best out of any situation. This shows in the country’s low personal crime rates. For example, in 2006 there were 2,291 cases of robbery in Israel. In Dallas there were 6,882 cases of robbery and in Houston there were 11,128 cases.

The fighting seen on the news is contained to very specific regions — the Gaza Strip and certain areas the West Bank. However, there’s tension in the North, and everyone seems to be talking about an imminent war with Syria. Living in Israel, it’s hard to imagine the country at war. It would be like seeing Dallas or Houston go to war. My brain can’t make the connection between this beautiful, modern city and the dangers that surround it. Many people believe a war will start sometime between now and October. The Jerusalem Post even had a story Monday on a shortage of gas masks in the country and the need to make emergency purchases.

I have yet to meet anyone that wants to go to war. In fact, most people seem ready to make big concessions in exchange for guaranteed peace. But nothing in the Middle East is guaranteed. In the meantime, the rhetoric that Americans heard so much of after 9/11 is daily brought to life here, as people strive for normalcy and refuse to let danger stop their world.

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July 4th, 2007

Orientation and Suspicious Objects

By Melissa Filbin on July 4th, 2007

I’d only been in the country for a handful of hours and had slept even less in the past few jet-setting days. My new friends and I were on our way to Hebrew University’s new student orientation, which we joked about, figuring the typical drugs/alcohol speech was coming but wondering if “it would be any different here.”

The orientation was led by a yarmulke-wearing Yankees fan with greying hair, glasses and a jolly countenance. I didn’t actually pay attention to his name or to the first half of his introduction. I could look up all I needed to know about Hebrew U’s history on Wikipedia. Instead, I took a great interest in my pen — starring it down as though it were the only barrier between the desk and my heavy head and droopy eyelids. The jet lag was setting in.

After 20 minutes that seemed to last for decades, the professor took on a more serious tone. Here comes the safe alcohol usage speech, I thought.

“I want to teach you the two most important words you’ll learn here,” he said “hefetz hashud — suspicious object.”

The room got quiet, and all of a sudden, I wasn’t so sleepy.

We were taught how to respond if we see a bag or object without an owner, even a backpack at a university. We were also given a rundown of campus security. Only students, faculty and staff are allowed on the campus, which is enclosed by tall stone and steel fences. Getting to class is a bit like going to the airport. We have to show our student ID, walk through a metal detector and have someone search our backpacks. We get to keep our shoes on though. The university is patrolled by the IDF (Israeli Defense Force), which has a base on the back of campus, the Jerusalem police, private Hebrew University guards who dress as civilians and walk around with concealed guns, and guards who stand at all gates and most building entrances. All guards have a right to ask to see our IDs. There are also concealed cameras in most of the lights. And that is just the security we were told about.

Despite all of this, in 2002, a terrorist was still able to get into the campus. He was a painter for the university, which enabled him to have a school ID card. The terrorist jumped a fence with a bomb in a backpack and left the backpack on a table in a cafeteria similar to Sbisa. He detonated the bomb from a cell phone, killing nine people — five of whom were Americans — and injuring 85. I will have to walk past the memorial to that tragedy every day on my way to class.

“Jerusalem is a city that lives daily on cakes of dynamite,” the professor continued. “What happens in Gaza affects what happens here. What happens in Syria and Lebanon affects what happens here.”

“How many of you promised family and friends you wouldn’t ride a bus?” he asked.

A few students tentatively raised their hands, looking around to see if they were alone in making that vow.

“Do me a favor: keep that promise,” he said. “Because, God forbid, if something happens, your family and friends will watch the news and have the assurance of knowing you weren’t on that bus.”

He never did talk about alcohol.

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