Jericho, the oldest city in the world

So I haven’t updated for a month, which means a lot of catching up to do! So, here goes. The week after going to Hebron, I went to Jericho and the Dead Sea with the same group of people who I went to Sabastya with.

The first stop on the tour was the Mount of Temptation, a Greek Orthodox monastery where Jesus spent forty days in the desert. There’s a cable car to get there, but we decided to walk. We walked up the steps, overtaking a larger group of Russian pilgrims on the way. When we got to the door, we were met by perhaps the least helpful or friendly person ever (talk about being the salt and the light…). He told our relatively smaller group that we would have to wait for the coachload of elderly Russians as two or three people from their group arrived first. This was despite both us and the Russians suggesting it would be more sensible for us to be let in while the old ladies made it up the hill. Not to be deterred, the man refused to let us in, whilst shouting at us in an excessively noisy voice, telling us to be quiet. So, after waiting ten minutes, which allowed a few photo opportunities, the Russians went in, and we had to wait a bit more.

Eventually, we were let into the monastery, which consists of a long corridor with houses on one side and a cliff face on the other, ending in a church. There was also a smaller chapel in a cave, where we were asked to wait. We were then told that the Russians were having a service, which would take around an hour. Our group was somewhat annoyed, as none of us were intending on staying more than an hour, and if we’d been let in first, we would have been able to see the church. After debating about what to do, we decided to leave. However, not quite giving up, we went to a cafe about half way up the hill, where the cable cars arrive, to have a drink. After sitting down for a few minutes, we saw the Russians leave the monastery. The hour long service had lasted about ten minutes.

So, we dashed up the hill (again) so we could get to see the church, as there was another tour group ambling up the hill. This time, we were allowed in, but literally told we could only stay a few minutes. We then went to the balcony to take photos of the view, but were again hurried on. This was despite the fact that we were at the time the only ones there. One of the members of the group hypothesized that he was being so rude to us because we had Palestinians in our group, and the man evidently preferred foreign tour groups. Either way, I felt that the Mount of Temptation was indeed an exercise in self-restraint.

View from the Mount of Temptation. Jericho is on the horizon.

The next stop, after buying a few snacks, was the Dead Sea. Despite still being in the West Bank, all of the resorts are Israeli. There, I did the whole floating on the salty water and covering yourself in mud deal. Unfortunately, none of us brought a newspaper so we couldn’t do the classic reading-on-the-Dead-Sea pose. Being at the Dead Sea meant I was also at the lowest point on the Earth’s surface.

Mud, glorious mud. Joao (on the left) went as far as putting it in his hair.

The Dead Sea is incredibly strange. The water feels like oil, complete with swirling patterns as you move. It’s also incredibly difficult to swim in, as the water keeps pushing against you. You also cannot put your head in the water, as the saltiness apparently burns your eyes and it tastes disgusting. Indeed, there are lifeguards on the Dead Sea for any tourists who somehow find themselves floating on the Sea the wrong way and are unable to right themselves. The life guards just wade in and turn the person round.

Floating the right way up on the Dead Sea

We then went to Hisham’s Palace, a winter palace built in the 8th century, but was never completed and was destroyed by an earthquake only a few years later. The ruins were however still an excellent example of early Islamic architecture.

Ruins of Hisham's Palace.

It is called Hisham’s Palace as it was thought to have been built by the Ummayad Caliph Hisham bin Abdul Malek (724-743 AD) but was probably built by his nephew, Al-Walid bin Yazid, who was, ‘banished from the court for wild living and scurrility, a passionate aesthete and drinker, habitual companion of singers, himself the best poet and marksman of the Umayyads.’ Haram.

A well-preserved mosaic in the ruins

We then went to the Spanish Gardens in Jericho. Despite being ten thousand years old, and therefore having a stake to the claim as oldest city in the world, Jericho is rather non-discript, and certainly doesn’t feel an ancient city in the same way other places, such as Jerusalem, Bethlehem, Hebron and Nablus, do. The Spanish Gardens were nice, complete with a ferris wheel, and even felt somewhat Spanish.

At the Spanish Gardens in Jericho

After that, it was time to go home. I think I slept most of the way back.

Hebron

As you may have noticed, I’ve not been updating so much recently. This is partly because I’ve been busy, and this has partly because I have a terrible internet connection. Another reason, however, is that I feel that I would rather wait to write an adequate post than to rush and write something which wasn’t worth writing in the first place. This is particularly true regarding Hebron, which is one of the saddest, strangest and indescribable places I’ve ever been.

The recent history of Hebron is not a pleasant one. Home of the Tomb of the Patriarchs (the Ibrahimi Mosque in Arabic), Hebron had a Jewish community long before the emergence of Zionism. In fact, many of the Jews living in the city opposed the movement and the establishment of a Jewish state. In 1929 however, growing tensions between Arabs and the ever-increasing Jewish population which began emigrating to Palestine in the 1880s exploded into riots, and the Jews in Hebron, which refused protection from the Haganah, a Jewish paramilitary organisation which would later become the IDF, came under attack. At least 64 Jews died in the Hebron Massacre, and homes and synagogues were destroyed. Whilst over four hundred Jews were hidden by their neighbours and survived the massacre, the Jewish population was evacuated from the city, ending one of the oldest Jewish communities in existence.

When the West Bank was captured by Israel in the 1967 War, an effort to rebuild the Jewish community in Hebron began almost immediately. A group of Jews took over a hotel for Passover in 1968, but left the centre to start a nearby settlement, Kiryat Arba (City of the Four, referring to the four Patriarchs). However, the aim of settling in central Hebron wasn’t abandonned, and in 1979, a second, successful, attempt by Jews to settle in the city took place, this time with the backing of the Israeli government.

Conflict between settlers and Palestinians in the city led to several violent episodes, the worst being the Tomb of the Patriarchs Massacre, where, in 1994, Baruch Goldstein, a settler living in Kiryat Arba, entered the Tomb of the Patriarchs/Ibrahimi Mosque complex and shot dead 29 and injured 125 whilst they were kneeling to pray. Goldstein himself was killed when he was overcome by Palestinians and was struck on the head by a fire extinguisher. Whilst most Israelis and Jews condemn the attack, Goldstein’s grave has become a place of pilgrimage for Jewish extremists.

Since the Oslo Agreement, the city is divided into two parts, one under Palestinian control (H1), and one under Israeli control (H2). Within the Israeli part, there are 4,000 soldiers to protect 400 settlers. The area was home to approximately 35,000 Palestinians. To enter, you have to pass through one of the 16 checkpoints. The Israeli settlers can own vehicles, whilst Palestinians living in H2 cannot. Hundreds of shops, schools and houses have been abandonned, whilst others have been forcibly emptied by the Israeli Defense Forces. During the Second Intifada, the shops along what once the main thoroughfare through the centre were locked shut with their goods inside. For the next six months, the city was filled with the stench of rotting food. Of the 500 shops on the road, only 15 remain open. Palestinians cannot use the ambulances provided for settlers, and must be carried on stretchers to one of the checkpoints. In the markets surrounding H1, rocks, eggs, urine is thrown at Palestinians in the streets below the settlements.

It was therefore with some trepidation that I, with a group of people from An-Najah, headed to Hebron a few weeks ago. We took a serviis, which sped at insane speeds through the West Bank and we arrived at Hebron in what was probably record time. We were dropped off at a roundabout somewhere in the city, and we had no idea where anything was. As it was Friday morning, most things were closed, and there was an eerie feel to the street.

However, within a few seconds, a man came up to us, told us we were welcome, and said there was an open cafe just round the corner (we hadn’t had breakfast). He tagged along, and then took us into the centre of the city, to the checkpoint where the two parts meet. We were going to be given a tour of the city by a man who lived in the Jewish part of the city, and was meeting him on the other side.

A road block in front of the checkpoint.

The Hebron checkpoint was the first checkpoint I properly had to deal with, as although I’d driven through dozens, I’d never had anything more than a brief glance through the window of the taxi. I was slightly nervous as I went through what was essentially a portakabin with barbed wire and scanners guarded by a few soldiers. On the other side, as the person we were meeting wasn’t there yet, we just sat outside a house watching the checkpoint, a bizarre experience.

The portakabin-cum-checkpoint

We saw a soldier interrogate a young boy, who was then comforted by his father. We saw two soldiers joking around with their sub-machine guns. We met someone from the Temporary International Presence (TIPH) in Hebron, who asked us if we were activists. We were told marhaba by passing Palestinians. We saw settlers passing in their cars. At the same time, some Palestinians tried to sell us key rings and Palestinian nick-nacks, obviously waiting by the checkpoint for what must be at least a consistent number of conflict tourists, of which I realised I was one. There was something surreal about watching the checkpoint from a short distance, a feeling I had throughout Hebron.

We were then met by our guides, the Palestinian activist, who I guess is in his fifties, and a young intern from London. We were guided out of the Jewish part, back into the main city. However, for most of our tour, we walked along the perimeter, the area the two parts came into contact and into conflict. We walked down the main market, which was, except for tourists and a few tourist shops, mainly closed. Above us was wire meshing and cloth, to protect the Palestinians, and us, from objects thrown by settlers living in the houses above the shops. Caught on the meshing were dozens rocks the size of footballs, chairs, bottles of urine, animal bones, bags of rubbish, anything the settlers decided could injure or offend.

The wire meshing, stones and rubbish, a footbridge and a watchtower

We were shown shops which were forced to close, a Palestinian school turned into a Yeshiva (a Jewish religious school). We peered down abandonned streets, including what was once Hebron’s main thoroughfare. They looked like something out of a disaster film, with burnt out buildings, set on fire to force the Palestinians living there to leave, windows with no frames or glass, and piles and piles of rubbish. On the rooftops were security towers, footbridges and even houses for the settlers. Soldiers peered down at us, some of them stern looking, one or two smiling.

Once the main thoroughfare of Hebron, this street now looks like something from a disaster movie.

Another Palestinian, selling key rings, met us further along in the market. He offered to take us into one of the last houses along the perimeter where Palestinians are still living. We climbed the stairs to the rooftop, and he told us that in the top room, a son of the family was killed when a firebomb was thrown through the door. On the roof, we could see the extent of the settlements in central Hebron. The massive yeshiva, water towers adorned with massive Stars of David, watchtowers, and abandonned houses. Across from us, we could see the Palestinian cemetery which they no longer had access to. Below us, a Jewish settler was fixing the roof of his house. Settler children were playing in the street. It was a surreal and haunting view.

View from the rooftop. The large building to the right is the Yeshiva.

After visiting the house, we took a short break at a shop selling products made by a women’s cooperative. We then walked further through the market, again with more tourist shops. I myself bought a keffiyeh because it was getting cold and I wanted a scarf. In one of the shops, a scarf was covered in egg yolk thrown by settlers.

Scarves tainted by egg yolk

We then went, through another security barrier, to the Tomb of the Patriarchs. As it was Friday, we could only go into the Jewish section, again through another checkpoint.At the entrance, we were asked our religion, as Muslims are not permitted to enter. Inside was a strange experience, as there were soldiers in one of Judaism’s, Christianity’s and Islam’s most holy site.

Tomb of the Patriarchs/Ibrahimi Mosque

We had tea at one of the only Palestinian shops left in the Jewish section, opposite some sort of Jewish tourist centre blasting Bar Mitzvah sounding music. By the checkpoint, there were Palestinian children taunting the Israeli soldiers by jumping over the knee-high wall dividing the two parts. It was strange to watch this bizarre game. We then took a walk through the Jewish settlement. Our Palestinian guide wasn’t allowed to come with us, so we were to meet him at the checkpoint at the other end of the settlement. The streets were deserted except a few settlers, and a group of teenage American girls pulling wheely-bags and wearing identical t-shirts. They said ‘hello’ as they passed. They were obviously Jewish volunteers of some kind, and it seemed sad and strange that young people who were probably perfectly nice were possibly contributing to a military occupation of a city.

A Jewish centre playing loud music

In the Jewish settlement, there was a museum about the massacre and subsequent resettlement. As it was in a basement, we asked a settler where it was. The museum was very propagandist and emotive. Although the massacre was terrible, and should certainly be remembered, the museum did little to contribute to a balanced understanding of the conflict. It completely ignored the fact that over four hundred Jews in Hebron were given shelter by neighbours, and ignored the impact of resettlement on the Palestinian population. Unfortunately, the Palestinians are equally capable of airbrushing or amending history. Our guide told us that the massacre was carried out by Zionists against the Orthodox Jews, who opposed Zionism, to discredit both the Orthodox Jews and the Palestinians. However easy it might be to try to attribute past events to conspiracy theories, particularly events which portray your side in such a bad light in such a contentious conflict, the only real way to peace is for both sides to honestly look at the past.

Anti-Palestinian and anti-TIPH mural depicting them as chickens due to its position in what was once Hebron's chicken market.

We also walked past the barracks of the soldiers posted in the Old City. Each one was painted in the regiment’s colours. The quarter was also filled with pro-Jewish and anti-Palestinian murals, as well as signs describing the history of Hebron. It comes as no surprise that these were also biased in their presentation of history.

Roots of the Jewish people, painted on barracks.

It was at this point our tour came to an end. By this time we were starving, but as it was Friday, we needed to take a taxi to a restaurant which was open. We then walked back to the city centre. By this point it was just getting dark, and the atmosphere of Hebron was very different to Nablus or Ramallah. We were constantly being stopped by groups of youth or children, and being shouted at across the street. Although none of them were unpleasant, it was slightly disconcerting, and very different from the other cities in the West Bank where I’ve been.

We were then picked up by the serviis driver, who took us on another wild-wind tour of the West Bank. I was glad to be back in Nablus. Hebron is possibly the most intense, saddest and haunting places I’ve ever been.

Ramallah

After visiting Jacob’s Well, Joseph’s Tomb and a restaurant where there’d been a massacre not too many years ago, some of us decided to go to Ramallah for the evening. We took a serviis, and an hour later, we arrived in the de facto capital of the West Bank, with its consulates, five star hotels and foreign businesses. There we met another SOASian and someone who works at the Ramallah office at An-Najah.

Ramallah is a bit of a strange place. Not more than a village a few decades ago, it has grown exponentially, and therefore doesn’t seem to have a centre. The Menara, a roundabout, serves as a centre of sorts, as does the nearby Yasser Arafat Square, which was until not long ago Clock Tower Square.

We visited the Mukata’a, the interim government buildings for Palestine. Arafat’s Mausoleum is also there, consisting of a large tower and a hall. We were greeted at the entrance by some friendly PA guards, and walked to the tomb, where there were two more guards standing in honour. Outside the government buildings is a square surrounded by the flags of countries which have accepted the existence of Palestine. No surprises that the British flag was not one of them.

After that, we headed to a bar, and I had a glass of wine, which is quite a novelty here. The bar was full of Westerners, as is Ramallah as a whole.

As it was Friday evening, the serviis to Nablus had stopped, and the taxis were rather expensive, well, for Palestinian standards anyway.  So three of us spent the night at the other an-Najahite’s flat, which was amazingly new and beautiful and put my flat to shame. There we were provided with dinner and a sofa to sleep on.

Unfortunately we weren’t able to stay in Ramallah the next day as I was emailed at 9.45 pm to be informed I was invigilating an exam on Saturday. So my trip to Ramallah was short but sweet.

Sorry for this rather late and short entry, but the next post will be about Hebron, which was one of the craziest places I’ve ever been.

Jacob’s Well and Joseph’s Tomb

On Friday, a group of us decided to take a short trip to Jacob’s Well and Joseph’s Tomb, two holy sites just outside of Nablus. Jacob’s Well (Bir Ya’qub), the site of a Greek Orthodox church and convent called St Photina, is located on the edge of Balata refugee camp, a five minute taxi ride from the centre of Nablus. It is held to be the place where Jesus spoke to the Samaritan woman (John 4), who is traditionally believed in Orthodox tradition to be called Photina, hence the church’s name.

Not far from the main road leading into Nablus from the south, the convent is a sanctuary of solitude and quiet. It has beautiful gardens with flowers and mosaic floors surrounding the church. Although a church has existed on the site since the 4th century, most of the current church dates from 2005. A small chapel at the site of the well dates from much earlier, but the construction for the main church began at the turn of the twentieth century. The funding coming from Russia dried up in the wake of the 1917 October Revolution and building work was halted. The church, without a roof, was still used, but the church asked Yasser Arafat for permission and funding to complete the structure, which was granted.

We were given a guided tour of the church, and taken to the well, which is in a crypt below the main building. The guide told us the well was around 40 metres deep, and poured a cup of water down it to demonstrate. It was only after a few seconds that we heard the splash of the water below. We were also shown the spot where, in November 1979, Archimandrite Philoumenos was axed to death by a group of Jewish extremists. No-one has been sentenced for his murder.

After visiting the Well, we then went on to Joseph’s Tomb nearby. The tomb was much closer to Nablus than I previously thought, being walking distance from the centre, which meant I had inadvertantly lied to my father. He asked me about the tomb when he discovered that an Israeli was shot dead at the tomb after a group of worshippers broke into the site at night, and I assured him that the tomb was well outside the city. Turns out it’s not, and in fact, it’s slap bang in the middle of Balata Refugee Camp. We walked through the camp, being shown the way by a Palestinian man and his one-year-old son, attracting an audience of school children. At the tomb, we were welcomed by a sole Palestinian policeman, who greeted us warmly and showed us inside. He asked us where we were from, and we chatted a bit.

Whilst the tomb has been held to be the site of Joseph’s burial for centuries (that is, Joseph and his technicolour dreamcoat variety), the actual building dates from 1868, and there is a slight dispute over the location with another nearby site. In the Bible, it’s stated that Joseph was buried in Shechem, the Hebrew name for Nablus, but the exact location is unknown.

After visiting the tomb, we went back to Nablus, where we went for lunch in a restaurant in a really nice hotel. I had a really nice kebab, and I ate far too much as usual. On the way out of the hotel, one of the group informed us of the building’s grizzly history. During the Second Intifada, when Israeli forces invaded the city, a massacre took place in the hotel, evidence of which could still be seen in bullet holes in the windows. Hamas militants taking refuge in the hotel were shot dead in the lobby, lift and the bedrooms. Now, it’s a perfectly normal hotel, and if the window wasn’t pointed out, I would have been completely unaware of its past. But that’s the same of a lot of the places in the West Bank. The past has been hidden away, and you only know what happened when someone tells you about it.

In the afternoon I went to Ramallah, but that will be for the next post.

Amnesty International on Israel and Palestine

Some people have been reading my blog, and have been moved by some of the things I’ve encountered. I thought it would be good to provide an overview of conditions in Palestine. Instead of me writing it, I’ve decided I would refer you to the Amnesty International 2011 Report on Israel and the Occupied Territories. The summary alone gives a long list of the types of problems Palestinians face (the report covers 2010):

A ceasefire between Israeli forces and Palestinian armed groups agreed in January 2009 was generally respected. The Israeli army maintained draconian controls on the movement of Palestinians in the Occupied Palestinian Territories (OPT), including a blockade on the Gaza Strip that deepened hardship and virtually imprisoned the entire population of 1.5 million.

The Israeli authorities rejected or delayed applications for permits to leave Gaza submitted by hundreds of Palestinians requiring specialist medical treatment; a few died as a result. Most of Gaza’s inhabitants depended on international aid, which was severely hampered by the blockade. In May, Israeli forces killed nine men aboard an aid flotilla in international waters that was aiming to breach the blockade. In the West Bank, the movement of Palestinians was severely curtailed by hundreds of Israeli checkpoints and barriers, and by the 700km fence/wall that Israel continued to build mostly inside the West Bank.

There was a substantial increase in the number of demolitions by Israeli authorities of Palestinian homes, water cisterns and other structures in the West Bank, affecting thousands of people. Israeli authorities also destroyed homes in Bedouin villages in the south of Israel. The expansion of illegal Israeli settlements on seized Palestinian land, partially frozen until 26 September, resumed. Israel still did not conduct adequate investigations into alleged war crimes and other serious violations of international law by its forces during Operation “Cast Lead”, the 22-day offensive in Gaza in December 2008/January 2009, during which nearly 1,400 Palestinians, including more than 300 children, were killed. Israeli soldiers and settlers who committed serious abuses against Palestinians, including unlawful killings, assaults and attacks against property, were generally not held to account for their crimes.

Israeli military forces killed 33 Palestinian civilians in the OPT, including eight children. Hundreds of Palestinians were arrested and detained by Israeli forces; at least 264 were held without charge or trial under administrative detention orders, some had been held for over two years. Reports of torture and other ill-treatment were frequent, but investigations were rare. Around 6,000 Palestinians remained in Israeli prisons, many after unfair military trials. Israeli conscientious objectors to military service continued to be imprisoned.

Of course, day-to-day life continues, and most Palestinians are warm, friendly and, on the surface, content. But military occupation is still a fact of life here. Regardless of your political stand (or lack thereof) of the issue, no-one should condone such treatment of Palestinians.

Farms at Al-Fara’

Ok, I haven’t updated for a while. The Saturday before last I went to the village of Al-Fara’, just outside of Nablus. One of my flatmate’s students invited him to his farm, and my Portuguese flatmate and I joined him.

We took a serviis from Nablus, and as soon as we left the village, we entered a magnificently beautiful valley with steep sides and sheer cliff faces. Apparently, there’s a waterfall in the valley which is worth a see, which I intend to do!

We arrived at the student’s farm, which was a lovely house on the hillside, overlooking the village and the valley below. As the day was baking hot, we retreated into the sitting room, which was a large room literally filled with chairs and sofas. There was no TV, no bookshelves, nothing except sofas and a few coffee tables. There we met the family, brothers, cousins, uncles and fathers. But no women, which was interesting, and that was the way it stayed the entire day.

We were given drinks, and we talked about various things, English, travelling, families, sport. Every now and again there would be a slightly awkward silence, which would be broken by someone saying, ‘ahlan wa sahlan’ or ‘you are welcome’. I got the feeling that the silence was more awkward for us Westerners than for the Palestinians.

We then had lunch. Seeing as the day before in Bethlehem we were provided with an amazing chicken and rice dish (called maqloobeh), I’d already eaten well that weekend (my grandfather keeps commenting that all I seem to do in Palestine is eat, and he might have a point). The food at the farm was equally wonderful. It was lamb maqloobeh, with hot yoghurt as a side. The quantities of food were ridiculous, and every time my plate was empty, more food would be piled on. I ate so much I thought I wouldn’t be able to get up from my chair. When we said we couldn’t eat anymore, we were asked, ‘don’t you like the food?’ As I’d already eaten three large platefuls, I don’t see how that conclusion was reached.

After a little bit of recovering and a cup of tea, we were given a guided tour of the farm. We were taken up to the water tank which serves the entire village, and then through the fields where they grow oranges, onions, lemons, guavas, apples and even more types of fruit. I was given some guava to try, and I must admit, I don’t particularly like it. We were then shown a cave on the plot of land, which, before the house was built, was where the student’s grandfather lived.

After a tour of the farm, we were then taken to another nearby herb farm, owned by a cousin. The farm was recently built, funded by USAID money (money which is being cut by the US government). The farm consisted of a series of greenhouses which grew herbs – mint, thyme, rosemary, oregano, and so on – all year round, and exported it to Europe, Russia and the USA. Sainsbury’s was one of the major British buyers, something the owners were proud about because of the company’s stringent requirements for food safety and employment practices. At the end, my Portuguese flatmate asked whether we could buy some herbs. We were told, ‘no, but you can take some for free.’ By some, he obviously meant a massive bag full of herbs, which we had to share with friends in order not to waste them.

We were then driven around the local area, and were shown Al-Fara’ camp, the third of Nablus’s refugee camps. You can instantly tell when you’re in a Palestinian refugee camp, partly because of the presence of UN, particularly UNWRA, signs everywhere. The school was UN, the dried-out water tank was UN as well. We were also shown a watchtower dating from the Roman period before being taken to a serviis owned by a cousin who, with his four other passengers, were waiting for us at the outskirts of the town.

A Photo Gallery of the Wall

As I wrote a lot about the wall, I thought I’d only include a few pictures. Here are some more, which give you an idea of the wall, its artwork, and its impact on Bethlehem.

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O Little Town of Bethlehem #3: Barriers and Banksy

After visiting the Church of the Nativity, which you can read about here, we took a taxi to the Intercontinental Hotel, Bethlehem’s five-star accommodation. The driver overcharged us big style, which would never happen in Nablus (can you tell that I’m already developing Palestinian style loyalties to my home town?). However, we weren’t there to sleep, but to see one of the largest and most depressing ‘attractions’ in Bethlehem: the Separation Barrier.

Whilst for the majority of its seven hundred kilometres, the barrier consists of fences, roads, ditches or barbed wire, through populated areas, it turns instead into a massive concrete wall with watchtowers every once in a while. This type of wall passes through Northern Bethlehem near the checkpoint to Jerusalem.

The Separation Barrier

Part of the reason for the wall is that in this part of Bethlehem is Rachel’s Tomb, one of the holiest sites in Judaism; it is also holy in Islam. Unfortunately, it had been vandalised by Palestinian militant groups, and Israel decided to include the tomb on the Israeli side of the wall. This meant that the wall was built around it, regardless of what was originally there. Businesses, houses, and a cemetry have all been destroyed or damaged by the construction of the barrier.

A cemetery damaged by the wall

The Bethlehem stretch of the wall is famous for its urban artwork. There is a footpath or road which runs alongside the majority of the barrier, and it has been covered in grafitti. Some of the grafitti is rubbish, but much of it is deeply moving. The wall has also attracted several famous artists. A Spanish movement, Mujeres Artistas por la Paz (Female Artists for Peace, part of the larger Mujeres Artistas contre la Violencia de Genero) has painted large portions of the wall.

Other artists, both famous and amateur, have provided their own input. One of the most impressive aspects of the wall is the international dimension. Most of the writing is in English or Arabic, but other languages, including Japanese, Korean, Spanish, French, German and Hebrew decorate the wall, making it a truly international outdoor gallery.

Nothing lasts forever

It was, however, slightly strange that tour buses were parked next to one of the most grotesque signs of military occupation. I hope that the tourists weren’t simply there to grab a photograph of a famous artwork, but understood the impact it had on the local community.

One of the most moving stories I heard came from a Palestinian family who owned houses opposite Rachel’s Tomb. Their properties were surrounded by the barrier on three sides, and their former businesses, including a car repair shop, were on the other side. The road that they lived on was once the main thoroughfare between Bethlehem and Jerusalem, and was used for religious processions on holy days. Now it was a dark cul-de-sac closed off by the concrete wall.

They had turned their shops, one of which was once an organic food shop which was popular with Israelis from nearby Jerusalem as well as Palestinians into souvenir shops. They told us that the wall was meant to be literally built in front of their house, and they were told that they would have to find another way in and out of the building, but when the Israelis dug up the road, they found the main sewerage pipe, so they moved the wall to the other side of the road.

During its construction, one of the families was made to stay in their house for forty days. They are no longer allowed onto the roof of their house, nor are they allowed to make any improvements to it. They cannot sell the properties to Palestinians, only to Israel, but they fear that they will be killed if they did so. Therefore, they cannot leave their homes, but their livelihoods have been destroyed.

The tourist shop caters principally to religious tourists who are visiting the wall. There are postcards of the artwork, handmade clothing, purses and bags, and child baptismal gowns which have apparently been blessed by clergy at the Church of the Nativity. One of the most interesting souvenirs is their nativity scene. It has the traditional set up, with Mary and Joseph holding baby Jesus, with the shepherds and kings outside. However, there is a barrier separating the two, symbolic of the difficulties for Palestinians in Bethlehem. It’s removable, because they hope the barrier will be taken away one day. There is also a small door in the stable, because, as the women at the shops told me, ‘We believe that God still protects us and will provide a way out of our situation.’

They asked me to tell people back home about their shops, and the fact that they ship orders free of charge overseas.

Banksy has also contributed to the artwork in Bethlehem. Whilst not actually on the separation barrier itself, in the nearby vicinity, there are two Banksy artworks, one showing a dove with an olive branch behind crosshairs, and another, just opposite the Intercontinental, shows a small girl searching a soldier.

A girl searching a soldier by Banksy

There is another Banksy artwork in Beit Sahour, which despite its large size, we’d missed every time we passed it. It shows a protestor throwing, instead of a rock, a bunch of flowers, and it covers the entire side of a car wash and garage.

Another Banksy: A demonstrator throwing flowers

In less intellectual news, we also went into a supermarket which sold alcohol and ham.  The owner even gave us some free ham when we told him we lived in Nablus. Amazing.

After a long day in Bethlehem, we headed back to the apartment in Beit Sahour, had a beer on the roof, and headed home. Coming back to Nablus, it felt like I’d been gone for weeks, not just a little over twenty four hours.

O Little Town of Bethlehem #2: Church of the Nativity

For the first post on Bethlehem, click here.

The main attraction in Bethlehem is, of course, the Church of the Nativity. One of the oldest churches in existence, first built in the 4th Century, and the main basilica built in the 6th, it marks the spot where Jesus is traditionally believed to have been born. The exact spot, in a cave below the church, is marked by a fourteen-pointed star. Its administration is shared by three churches, the Armenian Apostolic Church, the Greek Orthodox Church and the Roman Catholic Church.

Church of the Nativity at the far end

So, after olive picking, we all headed into the centre of Bethlehem again, had some refreshments and washed the dirt off our hands and faces, and headed into the Church of the Nativity. The main entrance is through the Door of Humility, a tiny hole in the wall too small for a child to step through without bending over.

Going through the Door of Humility

Inside, the church is amazing. Its architectural influences range from the mosaic floor revealed through a hole in the wooden floorboards, partially complete frescoes on the walls, faded paintings of saints on the columns and golden chandeliers. The whole place is in a general state of disrepair and is in urgent need of renovation, but this adds to the charm (obviously, if it fell down, that wouldn’t be so great).

Inside the church

Although the church wasn’t that crowded, access to the Grotto of the Nativity was done in groups, and I was herded through with a bunch of Russian Orthodox women. This meant that I didn’t actually get to see the exact spot where Jesus was said to be born, as there were thirty women crowded round it kissing it. They were also given a slip of card on which to write prayers. I didn’t get to see what they did next, but I believe they gave them to a priest. The grotto itself is also very interesting, a real mix of influences.

Writing prayers

On the way out of the grotto, a service started which was either Greek or Armenian. I’m guessing at the latter, but I couldn’t really be sure. There was something hauntingly fascinating about the service, the ritual, the foreign language, the incense and chanting.

Next to the main basilica is a new-ish (19th Century) Catholic church and courtyard dedicated to St Catherine. It felt like any other European church in style, but was still impressive, and the courtyard, with roses and citrus fruit, was a haven of quiet.

So all in all, the Church of the Nativity is one of the most unique places I’ve been, and is definitely worth a visit regardless of your religious persuasion.

After the Church of the Nativity, I went to see the separation barrier as it goes through Bethlehem. But that’s the topic of the next post.

O Little Town of Bethlehem #1: Olive picking

Thursday evening, eight an Najah-ites left Nablus for Bethlehem, the city of Jesus’ birth. We were staying in two apartments in Beit Sahour, a suburb of Bethlehem which I happened to use as a case study in my dissertation. We were renting the rooms for the night as one of our group’s friends lived in the building. After dumping our stuff, we took a serviis to Manger Square to have dinner with two other an Najah-ites, as one of them was also studying at the University of Bethlehem. As Bethlehem is a predominantly Christian town full of tourists, alcohol and pork were readily available, so most of the group ordered beer. All of us also ordered a traditional Palestinian dish consisting of chicken, rice, and a soup made out of a vegetable similar to spinach. Great amusement was had after Ingvild explained that her camera had a smile detection feature, which we tested as much as possible. We even drew a sad face on a piece of paper and a happy face on another, and swapped them quickly to see if the camera noticed. Alas, this did not work. We also saw someone being arrested for getting into a scuffle.

Church of the Nativity at night

The next day we had an early start to go olive picking as part of a group of international volunteers, consisting mainly of Norwegians. They love Palestine, and they’re everywhere here. I’ve been asked if I’m Norwegian several times.

It might seem strange to have internationals pick olives for free when there are so many unemployed Palestinians who could do the work, but the field we went to bordered the separation barrier. However, the owner of the land explained the history to us, and it became clear why they wanted internationals to help out. When the construction of the wall began, their land was divided in half by the separation barrier. It’s fifty metres wide and winds through the valley. She said that her husband laid down in front of the bulldozers and an Israeli soldier struck him on the back of the neck with a rifle, leaving him with neck problems for three years. She managed to convince her husband to move, saying there was nothing they could do to stop the destruction of the trees and it wasn’t worth his life. So they moved from in front of the bulldozers and watched tearfully as their olive trees were destroyed.

Their troubles didn’t finish there. For one, they’ve been unable to access their olive trees on the other side of the barrier. Second, they’ve been constantly harassed by the Israeli Defense Forces and settlers. They decided that younger Palestinians were more likely to be harassed, so they then used older labourers. But this didn’t stop the harassment, and once, while the owner was at the olive grove with her son, who would have probably been a toddler at the time (he’s 15 now), settlers began shooting in the field. She had to grab her son and run for cover, taking shelter in a cave. As she told us about what had happened, she began to cry, and it was very emotional. Unfortunately, one of the Norwegians who was a journalist, thought this was a good photo opportunity, which was rather insensitive.

This is why internationals pick olives alongside Palestinians, as we’re far less likely to face harassment from the IDF or from settlers. In fact, whilst we were picking olives, an IDF jeep came down the road along the separation barrier and watched us for about five minutes. The soldiers obviously decided we weren’t worth bothering, and, with a blare of their sirens, moved on. The Norwegian journalist took a photo of the jeep as it moved away, which again wasn’t particularly helpful. Another an Najah person however went olive picking in Nablus, but was told by the IDF that they couldn’t pick there (on a Palestinian field) and, in an ensuing confrontation, was nearly teargassed and arrested.

The separation barrier. We were picking olives from the trees near the gate on the bend.

Picking olives was surprisingly fun. It’s still done in the old fashioned way. Mats are laid out under the trees, and you just pick olives and let them drop onto the mats. There were different types of olives, mainly small black ones, and larger green ones which were easier to pick but harder to see. Some of the branches were hard to reach, so I spent quite a bit of the morning up a tree or ladder. Throughout the morning we were supplied with biscuits, coffee and tea.

Olive picking

When it got hot, our efficiency declined rather dramatically, particularly as it seemed we’d finished the trees with lots of large, easy to reach olives as well. I also got rather sunburnt as I forgot my suntan lotion. We were planning to leave around half eleven, but we were told that lunch had been cooked for us anyway, so we stayed for another hour.

Lunch was amazing. Again, it was chicken and rice, this time with yoghurt, but was ten times nicer than the restaurant fare. And the portions we were given were gigantic. So we sat in the shade of olive trees eating, chatting, and listening to old-time music that someone had on their iPhone.

Reward for a morning's labour

After lunch, we said goodbye to the people we were picking olives for and to the Norwegians. Apparently, the Norwegians, who’d agreed to stay for longer, got jealous that we left, and left quite soon afterwards, which was a bit awkward, but understandable as it was baking hot.

As this is already a long post, I’ll leave the rest of my Bethlehem trip to the next entry.