The heart

My colleague H. is a talented tour guide. He was talking about his favorite places to take visitors. Highest on the list is Jerusalem. He told me, "Jerusalem is the heart--all the pain, all the love, all the beauty, all the loss. Jerusalem is a story." I'm not sure how this sounds without hearing him actually say it with all of the emotion in his voice. It was a particularly wrenching thing to say because H. is Palestinian and hasn't been able to get a permit to come to Jerusalem since 2004. But it's been lovely to hear him talk about the many layers of stories and the deep connection he has to the land and the history here.

On Fear

"But is it safe?" It seems to be the first question that Americans ask about traveling to the Middle East. My answer is almost always a confident, "Yes, of course." Even though I know that's not completely true.



I've always been a worrier. When I'm at home in Colorado, I worry about car accidents, I worry about walking alone at night, I worry about accidentally burning my apartment down. I've been known to declare my younger brother dead because he didn't return my phone call for a few hours. And so, of course I worry here too. In fact, I rely on that low level of anxiety to keep me alert and aware here, where I am so thoroughly out of my element.

But the reason that I'm so quick to gloss over these worries is because what I'm trying to say is, "It's not what you think." Being here, I realize how deeply the perception of the Middle East as a blood-soaked war zone full of hostile people has seeped into my psyche. I realize it because sometimes I'm surprised that living here is so intensely ordinary. Most days, what I focus on is getting through life. I go to the office, I buy groceries, I get stuck in traffic. And so do the people around me. They go to school, they cook dinner, they walk the dog. And instead of hostility, the people I have encountered so far have been deeply gracious and hospitable.

I don't mean to minimize the incredible suffering that conflict and war have wreaked on this region. And I also realize that being a foreigner gives me protection that local people don't have. What I'm trying to say is that, in the U.S., we've allowed our perceptions of the Middle East to dehumanize the people here. That somehow because we believe this region is violent and has always been violent, then we are able to turn off our empathy. What I find devastating about living here is that the violence occurs amidst such ordinary daily life.

It's all in the details

A friend of mine in Colorado, an intrepid traveler himself, wrote to me with a long list of questions so that he could visit the city vicariously through me. The man knows how to get down to the details, so I'm posting my answers here.

1) Is it a desert?
The desert is nearby. But compared to Colorado where it is so dry that my skin cracks and nose bleeds, it doesn't feel like it to me. It is certainly not the complete desert with sand dunes and oases that is the stereotype of the Middle East. I know that those deserts exist, but I have yet to see them. In fact, it feels lush compared to Colorado, with lemon trees and giant aloe plants. The lemon grove above is across the street from me.

2) What parts of the city can't you go to?

There aren't any parts of the city I have to avoid. Jerusalem has an intense security presence, that makes it safe to be a tourist here, but has disastrous consequences for the local population.

3) What are the holy places like?

To be honest, overwhelming. Every inch of the Old City seems to have religious significance. I've spent several days touring Jerusalem and seen maybe two percent of the religious sites. There is a church carved directly out of stone, and a church in the shape of a teardrop in honor of Jesus' tears. There are spectacular mosques, and holy pools. I will need to spend many more days wandering the city before I can properly answer this question.

4) How often do you see big guns?

Every day. It's required for all Israelis, male and female, to enter the military around 18 years old. It's disturbing to me to see eighteen-year-old girls holding guns almost the size of their body. As one former Israeli Defense Force soldier said, "Teenagers should not have that much power."

5) How often do you cross security checkpoints to Palestine and back?

About once or twice a week. It's easy to get into Palestine and harder to get back out. Until recently, internationals had a free pass and didn't get the same harassment that Palestinians get. But this week, we've been noticing that the security guards are making it more difficult for internationals to get through, questioning our visas and sending us back to other checkpoints. It's nothing that would put us in danger, and nothing near the trouble Palestinians have, but it seems the idea is more to make it so inconvenient that we'll stop traveling to Palestine.

6) What can you hear from your apartment?

Late on a Friday night, someone is practicing the flute. I live in a quiet residential neighborhood. I can hear traffic all the time, and calls to prayer over a loudspeaker five times a day. On Fridays, I can hear an entire sermon in Arabic blasted over the loudspeaker. On Mondays, many women clean house and bring their rugs out to beat them on the balcony, which makes a surprisingly loud thwomping sound. Other daily sounds include children playing, cats fighting, and my landlord's dog, Blackie, barking. I can hear American voices when my neighbors who live downstairs come home from work. Occasionally, as I mentioned in an earlier post, I hear a herd of sheep meandering their way down the street.

7) What time is it there?
11 pm, which means although I could write much more, it's time to sleep. Thanks for the questions, and I will try to flesh out my answers over time. Leave more questions in the comments section, and I will try to answer.

Tongue-tied

I'm making my first stuttering attempts to learn Arabic. Stephanie Saldana has a particularly apt description of what this process feels like in her book, The Bread of Angels:

"The problem is, my attempts at learning Arabic aren't working. I'm just terrible. The words feel unnatural coming out of my mouth, and I sometimes think my tongue isn't the right shape to pronounce them...Even when I manage to sort out the letters, I can't get any of the new words to stick in my brain, because they don't sound like any words I already know.

Almost every day I've made embarrassing, even offensive mistakes. Last week I went to buy a toothbrush from the pharmacy, and instead of asking the pharmacist if he was open, I asked him, 'Are you a virgin?'" Worst of all, I keep repeating what I hear other people say to me, which always worked fine in English. Yet along with its impossible alphabet, Arabic has separate grammar for speaking to men and women, and all adjectives are gender specific. I've picked up the unfortunate habit of speaking to all of the men around me as though I'm speaking to a woman, insulting their manhood in the process."

So this is what I'm getting myself into. I like learning languages, but every time I start my Arabic tapes, I feel a sense of panic. Even simple phrases like, "Good Morning" (sabah el khair) seem impossible to remember or pronounce. But, I'm already here in the deep end of the pool, so I may as well try to learn to swim.

By the way, Stephanie, who was the first Jerusalemite I ever met, will be in the United States on her first book tour this month. She will be stopping in my home town of Boulder, Colorado, and many other places for anyone who would like to see her speak or buy her wonderful book on falling in love in Syria.