Onward (mostly) to Taybeh

After everyone got off, the driver took me to an intersection and told me to get out. "Here? This does not look like the Damascus gate" I said.

"It's close enough." 

"This isn't the Damascus gate!"

"I'm not going to drive all the way back in there. Get out here."

There was not use arguing. I got out.

At this point I called my friend Katie Cavallo.  She has been to Palestine three times now.  This girl truly has a deep passion for the Palestinian people.  I knew she was going to be in Palestine, so I contacted her for hlep since the flight debacle of getting here. She was mad that the driver took me only so far and that I paid 50 nis (shekels) for the ride.  She did assure me, however, that I wasn't far from the gate so I just began walking.

I rushed along awkwardly along the crowded sidewalk/street fumbling with my suitcase. Men overwhelmingly outnumbered women here. Great, I thought as I walked about 80 meters without seeing one woman.  I stayed on the phone with Katie, walked with as much confidence and strength as I could (with a rolling suitcase on a confusing and uneven sidewalk, this is not easy).  We met up shortly, and she bought me a fallafal sandwich. 

The first thing she said to me was, "Oh, you look so Jewish. Your skirt, hair, scarf..." Apparently Jewish youth look like what we Americans call hippies. For anyone who knows my style, this is not a promising look to walk around in a Muslim Arab community under Israeli occupation.  This was a very frustrating thing for me while I was in Jerusalem and Bethlehem.  I knew that most of the people around me abhorred me because of teh way I looked but I had no other option but to wear the skirt (remember, the lost bags...). I guess I could appreciate that I would automatically be accepted if I went to the Orthodox sector of the Old City, but even then maybe not—I wore short sleeves.  No matter where I went the people would be offended by my presence. 

It is anything but easy to exist in an occupation zone. 

The driving in this part of the world is simply crazy.  Old streets for donkeys pulling carts were not made for cars as well.  Funny, though, I have not been afraid while in a caryet.  We took a sherut from Damascus gat to Bethlehem but halfway there the taxi's wheel was bad so we squeezed into the next taxi that came.  We didn't have to pay (the taxi drivers work together like this).  We both stood and had to pile out each time someone wanted to exit.  I almost fell over so many times because the roads are all so curvy, hilly, and my huge backpack made balancing difficult. 

Upon arriving in Bethlehem Katie forcefully said "La', la' (no, no)" to the taxi drivers lobbying us for their business.  From there we walked to the souk, a marketplace.  In teh souk shoppers mix with cars mix with oriental rug shops mix with shoe stores mix with corn sellers mix with noise mix with anxiety.  All aound us people talked openly about the two white girls walking through the souk.

We turned into a garage and an energetic neighbor-boy rushed Katie. "Marhabah!"

"Kif haalak, Eliaz?"

"Mnih."

"Hamdulilah! (Praise God)"

We entered a large home on the top floor—Haitham and Shad's.  Still and refreshing compared to the frenzy of the souk.  Their home is like many Arab homes with the first area set aside as a sitting room.  It is packed with seating arraged for comfortable conversation.  Lush decorations of gold and velvet covered the room.  These sitting rooms are ornate—pretentiously so by Western standards—and, I have a feeling, not used often.

A long hallway connects the sitting room with the rest of teh house. As Shada walked toward us from the other end of the house light flooded the space behind her and made her sihouette appear dreamlike.  She welcomed us in.

Haitham jokes all the time and has kind eyes.  Shada is a gentle friend and a beautiful woman.  I stayed for 1 1/2 days in Bethlehem with these kind people.  They welcomed me and provided food, shelter, and safety.  Praise God for them and ask Him for blessing upon their home.  

At this point I was almost overwhelmed with lack of sleep (only by Friday did I finally have enough energy) but Katie and I went to the Church of the Nativity—Jesus' birthplace.  It is a beautifully adorned Orthodox church.  There are golden incense burners hanging, craggy walls, a wooden ceiling (this is rare, since wood is scare and stone plentiful) and mysterious rooms and passageways contributing to it's mystical essence.  The place of birth is in a hearth type chamber on the lower level of the church.  As we walked out into a courtyard kept by Franciscan monks two Muslim women from a Palestinian town that is unabashedly abused by the Israeli settlers there (see Katie Cavallo's blog entry on May 26th at katiecavallo.blogspot.com).  The younger woman, very pretty, wanted a picture with us... because we were pretty!  They were happy to meet us.  The feeling was mutual. 

Next we walked to the place where Katie has been staying, Hogar Ninos Dios.  About 14 severely mentally and physically handicapped people liver there from ages 1-40.  There are nuns who run the home and a teacher who comes to teach for a few hours each day.  Katie was not the only foreign help.  There's Lorenzo, a young, attractive, comical Italian cleaned and repaired all the while joking, and three people from Argentina: a doctor, dentist, and teacher.

As soon as we walked into the compound a girl, aged about 23, ran lopsidedly out to pounce on Katie with a greeting.  I met these lovely people, some so severely handicapped that they can barely move and make noise let alone walk and speak.  One girl, 15 years old, has only bones in permanently bend legs and is probably about three feet tall. 

Ramez, a toddler, had back, hip, and feet deformities that condemn him to scooting on the tile or concrete wherever he wants to go.  He will never walk without surgury.  The doctor from Argentina believed Ramez could walk with surgery and practice.  Katie intends to raise money for this small, bright boy when she gets back to the US. If you are interested in helping out, contact her at kcavallo@northpark.edu. 

After meeting everyone we simply spent time with them until it was time to go to bed.  This bedtime process lasts for hours because none of the occupants can be forced—they must be convinced—and this is not easy.  It made me smile to see the patience of the workers and the delight of the occupants.

The home was gentle and abrasive; beautiful and ugly.  The occupants' smiles and ability to communicate love warmed me, but the deformities and pain did not.  Some hit and yelled without restraint, but others lay softly in their beds with quiet smiles as I held hands and stroked hair. 

We were there until about 10:30 when Haitham and Shada came to drives us home (it's not safe to walk after dark).  We went to their neighbor's house to celebrate a birthday.  Everyone sits around and enjoys the company.  Family and friends, young and old, talking together.

For breakfast, pizza, but I couldn't finish it.  I have much less of an appetite here. For some reason I can't seem to eat as much, but I usually coerce what's given to me down.

I finally checked my facebook and there saw that my friend Bishara (the one who I asked to pick me up when I arrived in Tel Aviv on Sunday morning) wrote me a message saying he had waited at the airport for 5 hours and that he was very concerned for me.  He didn't get my message teling him that I was coming later until he came back from the airport.  Internet here can be difficult.  I was thankful that his character (which had partially broken apart in my eyes because I thought he forgot about me) was restored.  Even more so, when we called him he asked if I needed a ride to Taybeh.  "Yes" was the resounding answer. 

To get to Taybeh we encountered two checkpoints. Another safety precaution Israel employs is the checkpoint.  Checkpoints are places where soldiers check each passing car and approve or disapprove.  The Israelis do this to prevent terrorism and so have the right to dehumanize anyone passing through.  A refusal need not be explained—maybe the soldier's girlfriend dumped him and he doesn't feel like being nice.  There are permanent and temporary ones so there's not a good way to tell how long a drive will take between any two places.

After searching through Bishara's trunk (though he has an American and Israeli passport) the first checkpoint let us through.  "Judin!" the female soldier yelled to her peer as we pulled away.  She thought Katie and I were Jews. 

The second checkpoint was not so accomodating.  Though the road it's on leads to Taybeh in about 20 minutes and is nicely cared for, it is for diplomats only.  "Where will we go, then?" Bishara asked the soldier.

"Ramallah, Miami, Las Vegas" the unconcerned soldier boy remarked.

We took another road for over an hour instead.  One hill this way was so steep we nearly didn't make it to the top.  I didn't mind the detour much, though, because I could take in the scenery all day and not be tired of it.  The ancient hills of olive trees and rocks and sometimes Bedouin enthrall me.

At the top of the big hill we stopped to let the car cool and put water on it.  Here I walked away to take a photograph of the mountainsides.  Instantly, I met some of the townspeople.  I greeted a man an two little boys shepherded me to a tree that is thousands of years old—literally.  It is hollowed out but still blooming.  We drove a few more miles and arrived in Taybeh.