Kingdom of Duloc

Palestine is difficult for me to write about in a public forum, namely because I lack crucial facts, historical context and political background. I would do well to ground my experience with research, and probably even my posts, with secondary material. No doubt my visits have encouraged me to learn as much as I can about the situation. There is nothing like the tangible to drive me towards pursuing the word. However, I don't believe my inability to ramble off the Olso Accord should prevent me from writing. Indeed, I can add nothing to the discussion, even if I were well versed about all facets of the conflict. There are just too many voices out there with more political and analytical savvy than me, not to mention better writing skills. My posts can only offer emotion and observation. But sometimes I think we discount personal experience as being one sided and subjective. Of course, they are, but the problem is we discount them.

I couch my introduction because as I began to write about Hebron, I realized I was making assertions I wasn't sure were entirely true. I started checking my validity and discovered that the situation is so unbelievably complex that authenticating my statements would be an arduous task, perhaps even an impossible one. So I will write hoping no one is foolish enough to take my word as gospel.

Hebron is a city where the Israeli occupation is shockingly visible. Former Israeli Prime Minister David Ben-Gurion declared Hebron "more Jewish even than Jerusalem". A Zionist argument claims that Jerusalem became Jewish three thousand years ago under King David but Hebron became Jewish four thousand years ago under Abraham and included a number of settlements that were destroyed two days before Israel was established.

Regardless, when the Jewish attempted to "reclaim" the land, Palestinians were well established. The city is now broken in to two parts. H1, which is under control by the Palestinian Authority and H2, which is controlled by the Israeli army, in large part to protect the 1,000 or so Israeli settlers, many American natives. I have heard that there is as many as two soldiers for every one settler. From the few Jewish settlers I was able to readily identify, one chatting casually on the phone, standing on his balcony over looking the old city, another ambling confidently down the street, they seem unconcerned by the threat of the Palestinians who out numbered them.

As we walked through the city, we came to several check points with bored Israeli soldiers. When we asked if we could pass, they told us no. Pressed to explain, they expressed concern for our safety. We assured them we would be fine and continued into the Palestinian neighborhood, only to find young children playfully asking us to take their picture or shop keepers and passersby welcoming us to the area, even though we were obviously Western, even though one of our red-headed, freckled friends could be mistaken for a Jew. I wondered if the soldiers really were that illusioned about the safety threat or if Palestinians unleash their frustration on the human manifestation of the occupation.

Hebron settlers are notorious for their aggression toward the Palestinian residents. It was in Hebron in 1994 that Brooklyn born physician Dr. Baruch Goldstein gunned down 29 Arabs praying in the Tomb of the Patriarchs. One of our Palestinian friends dubbed him the first suicide bomber. The settlers have implanted themselves literally on top of the homes and shops of the Palestinians in the old city. Palestinian shopkeepers and residents have constructed metal netting through the winding alleys in order to protect themselves from the bricks, rocks and trash the settlers drop from above. The netting doesn't prevent falling liquids, however. Posted at either end in high towers are Israeli guards, watching to assure the settlers are not harassed.

Navigating the old city feels claustrophobic with the netting and debris over head, the narrow stone walk ways, the obscured sunlight and the dank shop corners. The dominating gaze of the guards and the settlers is a constant tension. Bodies are crowded into small spaces as they shop and owners stand in their door way begging you to come inside and buy or ready to tell you the plight of their stolen land.

As you exit the Palestinian section of the old city and enter the Jewish section, the world opens as if you are surfacing the water after a deep dive. Our friends had told us on their previous visit that the Israeli's had been blaring loud religious music from the temple, at a volume that could only be described as provocative. However, when we entered music was playing softly and an eery calm greeted us. There were no cries for our patronage. Buildings looked newly renovated. Sunlight illuminated the inviting grass and transplated palm trees decorated the entrance to the synagogue. I can't properly articulate why that situation felt so wrong. Obviously the juxtaposition of the rubbles of the oppressed with the decadence of the oppressor. Yet, it was more. It was Disneylandesque. It smacked of brainwashing, or at the very least desperately trying to live a lie. Just grin and plant flowers and hum to yourself and your guilt will melt away. Their reality seemed as fake as their palm trees.


* Pictures courtesy of Eric Maddox