There have been demonstrations. People have been injured in clashes between the pro and anti government factions, but thankfully, no fatalities. I ask Hisham who is demonstrating. 

“Its Jordanians” he says. ” The Palestinians are too scared to demonstrate in Jordan, after what happened in Black September. He is referring to the 1970 Palestinian uprising against the King which was crushed by the Jordanian military led by his own uncle Habis al Majali. There were thousands of casualties.

 Palestinian refugees to Jordan have been well integrated for the most part, but tensions remain. The refugees were given the option of Jordanian citizenship, which many took, but 500,000 or so still remain registered UNRWA refugees. Palestinian Jordanians have done well materially, and control most of the economic base in Jordan. Government and the military, however, is controlled by Jordanians. As a result of Black September, Palestinian Jordanians now find it almost impossible to be admitted to the Jordanian military, or if admitted at all, to be promoted above certain ranks.

Talk turns to the Palestinian-Israeli conflict and I confess to Lori how unhopeful I feel about the prospects for a peace deal, how troubled and sad I am about the increased extremism and polarization among not just my own, but people of all faiths.

What Lori says surprises me:

“Think of the Prophet Muhammad, Sarah! All the years he struggled. All the opposition he dealt with. We just have to keep trying. In the end, good will prevail.” 

I am filled with gratitude. I find Lori’s words immensely comforting, and I tell her that.

After dinner, Natalie and I stroll the hotel grounds together. It’s a beautiful balmy night on the Dead Sea shore. The sky is a deep black, there is no moon. We hear music and follow the sound. A party is in full swing on one of the seaside terraces. Perfumed smoke curls up into the night air as hookahs are passed around among smartly dressed young men and women. The singer’s voice is deep and melancholy. He sings about lost love and longing. What is it about the sound of the Arabic language that seems to so deepen the melancholy?

We watch for a while, like two strange peeping Toms, and consider novel ways of how to crash the party. Then we chicken out and head back to our rooms.

The next morning is a rare “Free” morning, and we relax in the salty waters of the Dead Sea. 

In the interest of modesty, instead of a conventional swimsuit, I am wearing my “California surfer” outfit, a bright blue short sleeve rash guard and matching bottoms. I think I look rather cool. 

 I decide to check out the hotel spa. 

In the hot tub at the spa, I meet Christine, a kindergarten teacher from Ohio, who is teaching in Al-Ain, in the United Arab Emirates. We have a really animated conversation about the educational system in the Emirates. Here’s what she shares with me:

The UAE is making huge efforts to promote public education. Christine teaches local Emirati children at a government school. I ask her whether the children who attend are middle or upper class Emirati kids.  She responds that “middle class” Emirati families make a whopping $17MM a year in family income. This is a check they receive direct from their government just for being Emirati citizens. They don’t perceive there to be any need to “work”. (That sounds a bit exaggerated to me, but I’m sure they’re much wealthier than the average Joe).

Christine is paid better in her Al-Ain teaching job than what she would be paid in an Ohio public school. Plus she receives free housing, free travel home for vacation, and there are no taxes whatsoever. Financially, it’s a sweet deal.

 I ask her if the social life is boring. “They have put all of us foreign teachers of all nationalities together in this apartment complex, so we hang out together” she says. “Some of the female teachers have brought along their spouses, who stay home while they work, and do handyman duties for the complex.”

Christine knew no Arabic when she arrived in Al-Ain, and her students knew no English. In every class there is also an Emirati Arabic-English bilingual teacher who helps the kids communicate. I ask her why the Emirati women would want to work if they are so rich. 

“They’re bored”, she says.”They want to get out of the house”

I ask her if the Emirati teachers wear the hijab or veil, and she says whether to observe the veil and the extent of the covering is determined by the woman’s husband. They do as he asks them to do.

The Emirates have gone from being a very poor region, to being tremendously wealthy, in the span of 40 years. This has brought unique social challenges. People are so wealthy that they do not necessarily see a value in education. Education is supposed to help you move ahead economically, and they feel they have already “made it”. Kids often times cut school and it is hard to maintain attendance. Kids are however, learning, and Christine is happy with their progress

This reminds me of a conversation I had with some Saudi students, while waiting in line at 6:00 am outside an Apple store to get the newly launched and elusive iPad2, just before leaving for this trip.

The radio that morning had talked about the effects of Tahrir Square on Saudi Arabia. The Saudi King Abdullah had addressed the nation and “thanked them” for their support, something unprecedented in Saudi Arabia. He had also announced an increase in the “monthly allowance” given to all Saudi citizens. 

I asked the Saudi students how they liked the Royal family and what they felt about democratic change in Saudi Arabia.

“We like the king,” they said. “He’s from a good tribe. Otherwise we could have a person from a very bad tribe become king!”

“Why is there such high unemployment among educated Saudi professionals?” I asked them.

“Because we are lazy,” they replied without hesitation. “Companies don’t want to hire us because foreign workers work harder, for less pay, than Saudis. There are some quotas for Saudis but beyond the limited quotas companies won’t hire Saudis.

Fast forward to the women’s spa at the Dead Sea. 

Christine and I are lost in conversation, when the female spa attendant taps my shoulder and tugs at my bathing suit. She wears a hijab, a traditional Muslim head scarf, on her head. Then she points to the restroom. I assume she is asking whether I would like to change into a conventional swimsuit. I decline. A few minutes later another attendant, also wearing hijab, walks purposefully over and  jogs my elbow. She motion to my surfer suit and shakes her head.

“Miss Sarah, I’m sorry but you have to get out of the spa”, she says. “You need to have a swimsuit on.”

I’m caught off guard, and I step out of the spa quickly, muttering apologies. Christine looks puzzled too. Then I realize the hysterical irony of the situation. 

Here is a Muslim woman in hijab, asking another Muslim woman to get out of the spa, because she is “too covered”, all in Jordan, a Muslim country.

 How schizophrenic is that!

Later on, I reflect.

I realize that it’s harder today than ever, to be in the middle. People like me are too conservative for the liberals, and too liberal for the conservatives.

People are increasingly, moving to the extremes, becoming more and more polarized. This is true across Jewish, Christian and Muslim faith groups. Not only is there religious polarization but also economic polarization, and in many instances, economic polarization is leading to religious polarization.

In a polarized world, when you choose the middle, you belong nowhere. 

Neither on the left, nor on the right. You get it from both sides.

Just like what happens when you walk in the middle of the road.

You get run over.

Howard and Natalie

We leave Taybet Zaman hotel and drive to Petra. We were told it’s always very hot in Petra so we are quite unprepared for the frigid weather. Its a long trek to get to the Siq, the opening to the canyon. The group strolls slowly along as the guide gives commentary.

The cold is unbearable so Rena and I decide to jog ahead, to keep warm. We get some amused looks from the locals and many offers of horse and camel rides. At times we duck into one of the ancient limestone cave houses carved into the mountains, and wait for the group to catch up. Rena is great company, and we talk about taking other vacations together with NPR’s “Travel with Rick Steves” tours.

Petra is absolutely spectacular. Our able guide Salah, knows everything you’d ever care to know about Petra, and about the ancient people who built it, the Nabateans. By the end, we are feeling very assimilated, and Salah presides over the ceremony as Hal and Roberta are joined in holy matrimony by the grace of ‘Dusharrah’, Nabatean style!

Rena explains how when she was younger, Petra was the stuff legends were made of. Israelis could not visit Petra before the peace treaty with Jordan. Young men would dare each other to reach the “red rock”. A popular folk song called Ha Sela Ha-adom (the Red Rock) was written about the formidable quest to reach Petra. Once the Israel-Jordan peace treaty was signed, droves of Israeli tourists descended on Petra, to see this wonder of the world for themselves. That flow of Israeli tourists seems to have slowed now though, and we encounter few while we are there.

In Petra we are approached by the usual variety of hawkers, many of them children, selling all kinds of trinkets. I have been to many places but there is something different about these hawkers. They ask you once. They don’t pester you or follow you around. Maybe they are just good natured and respectful. Or maybe, the tourist police keeps them in check.

The tourist police is ever present. There is a police “minder” assigned to our group as soon as we enter Jordan. He is in uniform and accompanies us everywhere. His name is Khaled. He is in his twenties, tall and fair, with deeply dimpled cheeks. A very friendly young man with limited understanding of English, I am hard pressed to find him threatening and am not sure how much “minding” of us he can do, with the language barrier. He has decided I am Arab, and he is extra friendly with me.

We reach the Treasury. It is awe-inspiring. We take pictures. The little hawkers approach me. They are selling accordion packs of postcards for 1 dinaar each. I buy a pack from a little girl about nine or ten, named Rahaf, and pretty soon, other kids appear. I examine a necklace from Mohammad. 

“How much?” I ask.

“Twenty dollars” he says.

I take my wallet  out and look for a twenty. I don’t see the right bill in my wallet so I say, “I don’t have twenty dollars”. 

“It’s there, you have it!”, he says very excitedly.

He is only four feet tall but he has sharp eyes, and he’s spotted the twenty dollar bill among the stack of notes stuffed in my wallet.

I smile. He has earned the sale.

I buy another pack of accordion postcards from Saad. Saad is only about six or seven. It’s very cold and his nose is running.

“Is he your brother?” I ask Mohammad.

“Friend” he replies smiling. The kids’ English is quite good. They have picked it all up in their interactions with the tourists.
 
Rahaf decides she likes me. She tears off a postcard from a brand new pack of cards and insists I accept it as a present. 

“No, no!” I say, realizing that she ruined the whole pack.

“Take it, take it!” she cries. She won’t take no for an answer. She is little, and poor, but her heart is full of Bedouin hospitality and she wants to give a gift to me, the foreign visitor to her land.

After our tour, we gather in a tea shop carved out of a Nabatian cave house. We recline against pillows on the carpeted floor, in a circle, and sip steaming mint tea. The tea warms our icy hands. It feels heavenly to pretend to be Nabatean and escape the chill outside.

A lively conversation ensues among the guys, initiated by the Bedouin shop attendant, on the benefits of camel milk for male virility. He is dressed like a Jordanian Johnny Depp ala captain Jack Sparrow, from the Pirates of the Caribbean. His eyes are lined with kohl as black as his oiled curls and beard. A red bandana completes the look.

“Drink camel milk and you will satisfy four wives!”, he says.

“I think I’d like to take a gallon to go, for my husband”, laughs Lori.

I wander out after a while, and start surveying the wares in the adjacent gift shop. I see a gorgeous hand carved silver dagger. It’s similar to the collection of daggers we saw displayed on the coffee table in Princess Aliya’s living room. The handle is inlaid with bone and both the scabbard and the curved blade are finely carved. It’s nothing more than a work of art for me, since neither I nor my family have ever owned or used any weapons (kitchen knives excluded)

Rena follows me out. 

Just for laughs, not thinking, I pull the dagger out of the scabbard and strike a pose.

I see Rena’s eyes widen in fear, reflexively. Her hand flies up and covers her open mouth.

It takes her a moment to regain her composure.

 ”A Muslim woman with a dagger; my worst nightmare!” she says.

Then she smiles.

I feel terrible. Not just for my silly prank and for having startled her so, akin to saying “bomb” at the security checkpoint….but at a deeper, visceral level, for the ability of my kind to elicit such fear in someone.

All my life, I have been raised with tales of the Other; been taught not to trust the Other, to be afraid of the Other.

In that split second, when I see Rena’s eyes widen in terror, I realize what it feels like to be,

The Other.

Arriving at the Taybet Zaman Hotel

Indiana Jones in Petra

Hal and David

Running with Rena

Escaping the cold, in a Nabatean cave house

Dulcie and I with Khaled

Petra

The OTI group in Petra

Wedding, Nabatean Style!

The Light at the end of the Canyon

First glimpse of the Treasury

The Magnificent Treasury

A Beautiful Jordanian Woman in Hijab

Nabatean Cave Houses

Rahaf, Saad and Muhammed

One Foot in the Grave

Mint Tea Party in the Nabatean Tea House

Johnny Depp

Khaled, Zamen and Omar have been leading the push for reform in Jordan. Khaled has been in Jordan 2 years after having lived 22 years in Alabama. The reformers tweet under Twitter handles @shusmo, and @reformjo.

( “Shusmo” means ‘What’s his name?” or “Whatchamacallit?” in Arabic. Interestingly, @reformjo used to be @angryjo but they changed the handle to @reformjo because they wanted to avoid being negative and wanted to focus on the positive)

Khaled says that frustrations have been there in Arab streets for decades, they only now boiling over. All the movements started out peacefully, and unwise rulers have fought them, instead of engaging the youth in dialogue. The Jordanian youth reformers are organizing monthly forums, and inviting youth and government officials to come and engage in dialogue with them. They have also organized forums called Amman Tech Tuesdays for youth to network in the high tech field. Queen Rania paid them a surprise visit at one of their forums, and they felt gratified, that the powers that be are paying attention to the youth’s demands.

They state that Jordan’s case is unique and is unlike Egypt or Tunisia. In Jordan it is not about regime change, it is about reform, and the distribution of resources. The make sure to clarify that the king is a uniting figure in Jordan, and nobody is saying anything negative about the king.

Hisham Majali, our Jordanian liaison is also on the panel. Hisham hails from the prominent Jordanan Majali family from the governorate of Kerak. Hishm’s father General Majali led the Jordanian troops in the 1967 Six Day War between Israel, Egypt, Jordan and Syria. This war resulted in the occupation of the West Bank, East Jerusalem, the Sinai, Gaza Strip and the Golan Heights by Israel. The Sinai was later returned to Egypt in 1979 under the peace treaty signed between Israel and Egypt. Hisham’s uncle Field Marshal Habis al-Majali served as Chief of Staff, Jordanian Armed Forces 1958-1975, Minister of Defense 1967-1968, and was a 20-year member of the Jordanian Senate 1981-2001. He was the commander of the Jordanian military during Black September, the violent  Palestinian uprising and attempt to overthrow King Hussein in 1970.

Hisham believes that at present, the resource allocation in  Jordan is too skewed toward the city of Amman, while the rest of the country lacks even basic infrastructure. He is an advocate of equitable resource distribution among all the governorates in Jordan.

Hisham and the other panelists engage in a heated discussion about what is the best vehicle to push reform in Jordan. Hisham feels that social media is not the best vehicle since people in 11 of the 12 governorates may not even have Facebook access. 140 characters is not enough to express the complexities of the political system and 70 percent of the population may not even know what Twitter is. Hisham feels that reform needs to come within the framework of the existing tribal structures and needs to focus on the equitable allocation of resources in the entire country.

I ask the reformers if they have a game-plan or strategy about how things need to change in Jordan, and in which key areas. This results in an awkward silence among the panel, leading me to believe that the strategy is still evolving. After some deliberation the reformers say that they want change in the following areas:

- Election reform: presently, ministers are appointed, not elected.
- Freedom to create political parties
- Equitable distribution of wealth and an end to the abuse of power.

Later that night, Hisham and I revisit the topic over dinner.

I say to Hisham:

“It is my humble observation that in the Arab and broader Muslim world, people’s allegiances to clans or tribal affliliations seem to supersede their allegiance to institutions. In other words, people pledge loyalty based on clan or tribe, to an individual occupying an institution, and not to the office or institution itself (e.g. that of President). In contrast, in the Western industrialized world people pledge loyalty to the institution, regardless of the individual occupying it, for the individual changes when the term is over.
It seems to me that the allegiance to ancient tribal structures has hampered progress in the Arab world, and for real reform to happen, fundamental social shifts need to occur in which people have allegiance first and foremost to institutions, and not based on tribe or clan to the individuals occupying the institutions. How else will everyone feel equal and empowered, feel like they really have a shot at a fair slice of the pie?”

Hisham’s answer is a bit surprising but brutally honest:

” Do you think that has any chance of happening? That will never happen!” He says.
“Us Arabs, we still even trace the bloodlines of our horses! How do you think we will ever get to the point where we can ignore the bloodlines of our tribes?!”

Leaders of the Jordanian Reform Movement

View of Amman

Amman Citadel

Amman city view from the Citadel

The Arabian is a breed of horse that originated on the Arabian Peninsula. With a distinctive head shape and high tail carriage, it is one of the most easily recognizable horse breeds in the world. It is also one of the oldest breeds, with archaeological evidence of horses that resemble modern Arabians dating back 4,500 years. Throughout history, Arabian horses spread around the world by both war and trade, used to improve other breeds by adding speed, refinement, endurance, and strong bone. Today, Arabian bloodlines are found in almost every modern breed of riding horse.

Along with prized horses, the stables are also home to abused horses that have been rescued. All the horses are kept in natural pastures most of the time, not in enclosed pens.

Interestingly, the manager of the Royal Stables is Major Faisal, from the Pakistan army. Pakistan and Jordan have a military cooperation treaty and Major Faisal is here in Jordan on deputation for two years. He is a trained veterinarian and took care of the horses in the Pakistan army, before taking up his present assignment in Jordan. He gives us a tour of the stables. We see many magnificent horses at the stables including Hlyyail Ramadan, the worldwide winner in the beauty category in 2006.

Afterward, we head over to the New Hope Center, the animal shelter being run by the Princess Aliya Foundation, an NGO founded by Princess Aliya, dedicated to promoting respect and compassion toward all of Creation. Princess Aliya al Hussein is the oldest child of the late King Hussein and the oldest sister of the present King Abdullah.

Princess Aliya has had a lifelong love for animals, and started the Princess Aliya Foundation recently, to work in the following areas:
Slaughter House Reform
Stray Animal Control
Veterinary Medicine
Education
Legislation
The New Hope Centre
Equine Therapy

It has become fashionable in the region, for wealthy individuals to have private zoos. Jordan has unwittingly become the conduit for the illegal trade of big cats and other wildlife for private collectors.

Princess Aliya, who been a tireless advocate for animal rights and started with an effort to rectify the situation at slaughterhouses in Jordan, ended up being asked to address the stray cat problem, the dog problem and the zoo problem.
With a skeleton staff, she is heroically trying to improve animal welfare in Jordan. 

The animal shelter the Foundation runs houses rescued lions, tigers, bears, horses and other animals. It also utilizes retired show horses to provide equine therapy to developmentally disabled children. It was constructed in a matter of days, after the plan to have the shelter was approved. The princess’ cousin Sarra and equine therapist Soo Yen, guide us through the shelter. We meet the center’s newly appointed veterinarian, a smartly dressed athletic looking young woman who wears hijab, the traditional Islamic head covering.

We see many rescued animals who arrive at the center traumatized, and are cared for with unending love and concern. We ride in Sarra’s SUV to a pen a little ways away, that is home to “Teddie Bear”. Teddie Bear was rescued from a very abusive situation and now has grown to believe that Sarra is his Mom. She talks to him softly, like she’s talking to a baby. Teddie Bear does not not want Sarra to leave and makes that plain for us to see.

Following the New Hope Center, we are invited to Princess Aliya’s home for tea. We’re not sure what to expect, none of us being particularly well versed in rubbing shoulders with royalty of any description.

A security checkpoint opens onto a long windy road up a wooded hill into the Jordanian royal family’s residential compound. Many members of the Jordanian Hashemite royal family which numbers a mere 150 or so, live in this compound, including King Abdullah and his family. The individual homes are not visible, being separated by tracts of woodland.

Princess Aliya’s home is large but not ostentatious, tastefully decorated with lovely carpets, art and antiques from the region. In the foyer are displayed some beautiful embroidered saddles, and on the square glass coffee table is a collection of antique daggers and swords. Family pictures are everywhere, making the house look like a warm and inviting home, definitely not a palace.

Princess Aliya walks in. She’s middle aged, dressed casually in a calf length dress and cardigan, and is refreshingly the opposite of what I expected of royalty. She comes across more like a gentle and friendly aunt than a princess. Warm, exceedingly humble and approachable, everyone around calls her “Siti” ( loosely translated as my lady), instead of your royal highness or whatever. In her hand is a small rosary or Islamic tasbeeh.

Tea, cookies and dates are served by uniformed butlers. Princess Aliya greets us and addresses us in flawless ” Queen’s English”:

“We have to understand that each individual is a world unto itself. Whether it’s a fly, or a cat or anything, it’s life is it’s whole world. The creature may not mean anything to us, but to it, it’s life is it’s entire existence. We have to respect all life and we have to teach our children to respect all life.

We have to reteach our children what is the quest for life. We are teaching them from the book how to be successful. That is not the end game, and it is destroying us.  We have forgotten to teach our children how to be human.”

She shares with us how the Princess Aliya Foundation was formed and all the hurdles she had to face along the way. We hear about the wonderful work the Foundation is doing in promoting animal welfare, as well as providing equine therapy to disabled children.

Afterward, we all pose for pictures with the princess. She is patient and gracious with all of us alien visitors, snapping pictures of every object in her living room. Among the people lined up for a photo-op is our Jordanian police minder, Khaled. The Princess poses for a picture with young Khaled with the same smile and grace as she would for any dignitary. 

That’s impressive, I think to myself. No wonder the Jordanian Royal Family has such popularity among their subjects.

Dulcie feeds the horses at the Royal Stables

Hlyyail Ramadan really looks like a horse from a Fairy Tale

Rescued big cats at the New Hope Center

Lori gives the Princess a gift on behalf of OTI

A collection of beautifully carved silver daggers and swords displayed on Princess' Aliya's coffee table

Khaled stands in the background as the Princess accepts her gift from Lori

King Abdullah and Queen Rania's wedding picture is on display in Princess Aliya's living room

The border crossing at Sheikh Hussein is uneventful.

Our Jordanian guide Salah joins us and gives us a running commentary on Jordan, its history, people, culture and landscape. Daniel fills us in with a primer on Jordanian politics and its many different constituent populations with sometimes divergent interests, that create tremendous pressures in this tiny nation.

The road winds and climbs through the hills with spectacular vistas of the Jordan valley below. A few hours later, we arrive at the Grand Hyatt Hotel in Amman.

The hotel is quite grand, as the name suggests. Friendly and attentive staff greets us and attends to our every need. Large portraits of King Abdullah and his father, the late King Hussein, adorn the hotel foyer. This is a standard feature of Jordanian public buildings and indicate the people’s allegiance to the King and the Hashemite royal family.

Our meeting with Senator Akel Biltaji takes place the same afternoon at the hotel. He has served as the Jordanian Minister for Tourism and is a special adviser to King Abdullah. The Senator is handsome, with a full head of silver hair and a trimmed mustache, and dressed in a well cut suit. The suit he wears is accessorized by a silk tie with camels and palm tree motifs, presented to him personally by the late King Hussein.

Senator Biltaji is a charming man, an eloquent storyteller. He knows how to win people’s hearts.

He talks about the Olive Tree Initiative. He begins with the historical significance of the olive tree in this Abrahamic land and makes a connection with the mission of the Olive Tree Initiative.

We are The Light, he says, a light shining on darkness. Darkness is the same as ignorance.

He chooses Surah Noor, verses of The Light, from the Quran to illustrate his point.

“Allah is the Light of the heavens and the earth. The example of His light is like a niche, within which is a lamp, the lamp is within glass, the glass as if it were a pearly white star lit from (the oil) of a blessed olive tree, neither of the east nor of the west, whose oil would would almost glow even if untouched by fire. Light upon light. Allah guides to his light whom He wills. And Allah presents examples for the people, and Allah is Knowing of all things.”
The Qur’an: Verses of the Light (Noor 24:35)

The Senator carries on:

“I met the OTI students last year. They came to Jordan towards the end of their trip and I saw how the journey had changed them; how they became more accepting, more peaceful. 

These are historic times. Youth are the engine of change. Established leadership should be there not to dictate but to guide the youth. To show the youth where we have failed.

Our generation faced many challenges. I became a refugee at the age of seven. I had a family of 13. Jordan became our home. I worked hard and made it. Others did not do so well. Maybe they did not work so hard. Or maybe they did not have the opportunities I had. 

Or maybe, they kept waiting for someone else to come and make change for them.

In my 63 years I have seen many wars and much conflict. A lot of time passed between Pearl Harbor and 9/11. Both were very shocking events. Then on November 9, 2005 we in Jordan had our 9/11. In the lobby of this very hotel where we are sitting today, a suicide bombing took place. I had left the hotel and returned to pick up the pieces of a person I had been talking to, just 20 minutes before.

Jordan has opened it’s arms to waves and waves of refugees. The first refugees came in 1948. Then in 1967 and 1973. More refugees came after the Iran-Iraq war, and the first  Gulf war. 450,000 Jordanians who worked in the Gulf came back after the first Gulf war, back home to scarce resources. Not long after, we welcomed 750,000 Iraqis from the current Iraq war. They are treated as guests but jobs are scarce, and it creates severe pressures.

There are more immigrants and refugees in Jordan now, than there are Jordanians.

In 2003, I was His Majesty’s advisor when we advised the US not to go to war in Iraq. 

In 2004, we advised the US not to have elections in the PA. But President Bush was intent on pushing “democratization”.

After 9/11, Jordan was the first country to declare itself an ally of the US in the war on terror. His Majesty the king was on top of the Al Qaeda hit list. Jordan needed reform, so in October 2005, 1000 advisors drew a National Agenda for Jordan, developed a five pronged plan for change. It focused on administrative, legislative, judicial, political and social reform. But then our 9/11 happened (11/9/05), which scared the security apparatus into action, and security became paramount. This set reform back by several years. We became a bit complacent.

I encourage you to read the book by the king called “Our Last Best Chance”. The King had a message in today’s paper. He welcomes political dialogue on campuses. He is welcoming Irvine to Amman.

Now, we are in a completely different political theatre. From Tunisia to Egypt, from Bahrain to Libya to Syria, our youth are demanding change. Youth are most frustrated, and our generation is most incompetent. We cannot give them the answers. A tsunami of civil unrest is in the making all around us.  If it’s not addressed quickly, it will overwhelm us.

Imagine if a million Palestinians were to start demonstrating, set off from Ramallah and march towards Jerusalem. Will the IDF fire on them?

The priorities of these youth-led reform movements in Egypt and elsewhere, have been entirely domestic. The issues are quality of life issues, economic growth, jobs. Not a single slogan in these protest movements has been about the Arab-Israeli conflict. The Arab-Israeli conflict has been the “scarecrow” that has kept certain leaders in power for decades. Hafez al Assad in Syria, Hosni Mubarak in Egypt, generation after generation. Post-reform Egypt may not be a toughie on Israel. But I do think Egypt’s gas will become more expensive for the Israelis.

Someone asks the Senator why the Libyan people and the world expect the US to intervene in Libya. Why is there not a similar expectation of other Arab countries to come to Libya’s aid?

He replies that there are two main reasons.

“Libya is a latent ally of the United States. Halliburton alone has a $50 bn contract in Libya. So does Occidental. 
The second reason is geopolitics. I’ll lay it out flat: The USA is the leader of the  world. And the West has never allowed an Arab nation to intervene in the business of another Arab nation.”

“Tell us the story about Moshe Katsav”, Shannon asks. 

She is one of the founders of the Center for New Diplomacy, our liaison on the ground in the region. Moshe Katsav is an ex-Prime Minister of Israel. His name has been in the papers recently. He is being prosecuted on multiple rape charges.

Senator Biltaji continues, “Moshe Katsav and I were counterparts at one time. He and I were ministers for tourism and together, we did a lot to promote tourism to the region.

I met Katsav for the first time shortly after the peace treaty between Israel and Jordan was signed. I always do a bit of research about the people I am going to meet before I meet them. I found out what Katsav’s nickname was. As soon as I saw him, I addressed him by his nickname, opened my arms wide and hugged him.

I said to him: Even though your people took away my home, I forgive you.

The senator has won us over.

As we are leaving, Nina Berman approaches him and shakes his hand.

“Where in Israel were you born?”, she asks.

“The question should be rephrased”, Senator Biltaji replies with a half smile.

“Where in the West Bank were you born?” Nina says, a bit puzzled.

“No, the question should be: “Where were you born?” he says

“I was born in Gaza”, he adds, still smiling.

Leaving for Amman on the Nazarene Tour bus with our able driver Ramzi

Daniel offers background on Jordanian politics

Immigration at Sheikh Hussein

Vistas of the Jordan Valley

Rena and Hal checking in at the Grand Hyatt with Sandra in the background

The Kings watch over us in the Grand Hyatt lobby

Senator Akel Biltaji

Shannon listens intently to the Senator

Dave and Roberta evaluate from the sociological perspective

Surprisingly, there is none of that. The Turkish Airlines ground staff at LAX have donned rainbow colored silk flower garlands and pass out cookies in celebration of Norooz, the Persian New Year. And the flight from Istanbul may just as well be going to Timbuktu, not Tel Aviv. If relations between Turkey and Israel have soured, there is certainly no evidence of that in the transit lounge.

So I land in Tel Aviv at 2:00 am hoping a bit anxiously for the “welcome service” guy to find me (before I get kidnapped by the Mossad), and luckily, he is right at the airplane door, holding a sign with my name on it. Phew!

He is an earnest-looking, friendly young man, and tells me his name is Nuriel (like Nuri el Maliki, the Iraqi PM, I am about to say, but think the better of it) He whisks me out one door and then another, and after 30 seconds in immigration, we were on our way out of the airport.

Why am I here again, in the land of Eretz Israel, Palestine, whatever? The long journey has given me plenty of time for reflection.

It is a historic time. Something fundamental has changed, since the my last visit to the region almost exactly a year ago. After decades of suppression by dictators, Arab youth have risen, and toppled regimes in Tunisia and Egypt. Blood is being spilled in Libya and Bahrain as the people there demand their own revolutions. NATO planes are enforcing a no fly zone to protect Libyans, and the unrest has spilled over into Syria and Jordan. 4 Syrian protesters have been killed by government forces, today’s paper says.

Amidst the upheaval, there is a palpable sense of new possibilities, of hope. I am here because I want to believe that things have changed, that a solution is somehow possible, somehow just within our grasp, to the six decades long Palestinian-Israeli conflict. I want to meet the same people I met last year, and I am yearning to hear renewed hope in their voices, renewed hope and determination. I am hear to learn, to bear witness.

This land is a strange place.
The moment you set foot here, people want to know where you are from. They want to put you in a box; Muslim, Jew, Christian, other. Once you are put in that box, all your interactions are influenced by the color of the box you are in. It’s a bit disconcerting, coming from America, where you don’t necessarily carry your faith on your sleeve

People here are really good at reading faces. Usually its pretty easy for them, to tell from your face, which box you belong in. But my face can be a bit confusing, and they sometimes have trouble figuring out where to put me, so they ask where I’m from. If I reply that I am from San Diego, they ask where I’m really from.

They keep asking until they are satisfied, until they have figured out in which box I belong.

Then they say something like, ” I knew, because you have Arab eyes.” (even though I am not an Arab). I accept that as a compliment, as a tacit welcome into their community.

The Carlton Hotel is nicer than I remember it. There is dark chocolate and red roses in a bud vase on the coffee table. I gaze out the window and see the blue Mediterranean, so serene.

The sea has borne witness to centuries of conflict. The sea is neither Arab nor Jew. It just is.

The next morning, I meet up with Howard and Natalie in the lobby. They’re a warm, delightful couple from New Jersey, visiting the Middle East for the first time, with the Olive Tree Initiative. What a wonderful introduction to the Middle East, I think to myself.

Howard drives us to Jerusalem and we pick up our guide in Gilo, a settlement in Jerusalem. It is a lovely neighborhood with homes in hewn Jerusalem stone, flowers spilling over the walls. “Our guide has strong opinions” Natalie warns me, “He’s very pro-Israeli”.

Jonathan (Yoni) the guide is young and intelligent, and he has made “Aliyah” from Brooklyn to Israel. We have interesting interactions the whole day. He tells us a story about how he once missed “his chance” with Natalie Portman.

Yoni firmly believes that the land of Israel is from the Jordan river to the Mediterranean sea, and the Israelis have given the Palestinians more than ample opportunities and concessions in return for peace, that the Palestinians have chosen not to accept. Jonathan does not see an “equivalence” between settlement construction in the West Bank and the rise of hatred against the Israeli occupation and violence against settlers. He has taken a class with a renowned professor and conducted research on radical Islam, and believes that a segment of the US Muslim population wants to overturn the US constitution and impose “universalist” shariah laws.

Our interactions are impassioned yet polite.

We tour the old city with Jonathan, staring with King David’s Tomb through the Jewish Quarter and the Christian quarter. We come upon a procession of Christian tourists on the Via Dolorosa, the path Jesus took, carrying the cross upon his back, to crucifixion. The tourists are chanting loudly and we cannot pass them, so we follow. It’s an interesting procession. Three Jews, a Muslim and a bunch of chanting Christians ambling down the Via Dolorosa. Only in Jerusalem.

After a while, I leave my companions and head off alone. I want to take in the “street” on my own, soak in the sights and sounds, feel a part of Jerusalem.

In the Jewish quarter I pause in the plaza with the new synagogue. It’s built on the site of an old synagogue that was destroyed in the 1967 war. Next to the shiny new dome of the synagogue, I observe something peculiar. A dilapidated minaret with the crumbling remains of a mosque. The crescent on the minaret is still intact.

In the plaza, a young musician is playing cello. His cello case lies at his feet to catch the small change people drop his way. He plays beautifully. He is studious looking, serious and bespectacled, a little bit sad. I sit awhile and listen to him play.

I arrive at the Western Wall plaza. I look around and try to find someone to ask for directions to the mosque. I see three young IDF soldiers around a coffee table. For some reason I don’t feel like asking them. I see a middle aged man leaning against a bicycle. I ask him instead. Right down this alley and to the right he says. He seems happy I asked. He is an Arab.

I walk down the alley. You can tell immediately that you are in the Arab quarter. It is not as clean. It is more crowded. And there are no young musicians playing cello.

I stop at Marocco restaurant for lunch. It is very close to the mosque entrance. The food is good. I have a shawerma plate and fresh squeezed pomegranate juice. The owner and a young boy serve all the customers themselves. Every few minutes the owner steps out in the alley, accosts passersby, and gives them a sales pitch about his restaurant. He does succeed in getting some people to step inside. He doesn’t seem particularly well do do, judging from his appearance. I would have thought this was a really good spot to have a restaurant, being so close to the entrance of Al-Aqsa, but apparently it is not. I ask the owner why many of the shops around him are shuttered.
“No business”, he says, shrugging his shoulders.

“Where are you from”, the soldiers at the mosque entrance ask me. They check my passport. They want to know if I am any relation to the Jerusalem Ansari clan. I shake my head. “Tafaddali” they say, “Welcome”.

I enter the grounds. There are very few people around, maybe only twenty, in a huge mosque. I am surprised why there are so few people here, considering it’s such an important Islamic landmark.

There is stray Muslim cat rummaging in a trashcan and a couple of Muslim pigeons hopping about.

I am stopped twice more by random men who ask where I am from, and the third time one approaches me, I get upset.
“Who are YOU?”, I demand, mighty annoyed.
He says he is a guard. I ask him where his uniform is. He produces something that looks like an ID. I give him a piece of my mind and tell him not to hassle women. He looks a bit sheepish and let’s me go.

I say my prayers in the mosque. How much blood has been spilled for these stones, I think with a heavy heart.

A lot has happened since the first time I was here. I pray. I call out to God. Time passes by.

He does not answer.

There are two little boys running around. Their mother is leaning against a column, lost in the pages of a Quran. The boys are chasing each other throughout the mosque, tumbling on the carpet. One is Muhammad and the other is Ali. Ali has some sort of defect in his eyes. His dark eyes look almost shut like slits and he wears large black rimmed glasses. His disability doesn’t prevent him from any of the rambunctious things little boys do. He looks like a Palestinian Harry Potter.

I feel deeply happy just watching the boys tumbling around. The little boys couldn’t care less that they are doing cartwheels on the most contested patch of land on the planet.

I am staring at the boys and smiling, the Quran in my lap lays forgotten. They get tired and come drop on the carpet next to me. I snap a picture of them. They like that a lot.

“Sawwarna” they say, grinning. “She took our picture”.

it’s time to leave. I have to meet Howard and Natalie at the Western Wall plaza at 3:30. I hurry out of the masjid. On the way out I ask a passerby to take my picture. I want to remember this moment. I don’t know if I will be back. The Dome of the Rock glitters in the background.

Right outside the gates, there is trash piled high in the corner of the alley. An Arab and an Israeli cat are digging through it for scraps, together.

That night we take taxis when returning from dinner. The fare to get to the restaurant was 30 shekels. Natalie, Howard and I ride together. The taxi driver is friendly. “Where are you from” he asks. Then without waiting for an answer he says, ” from The USA; let me guess, California or New York”.

Howard tells him they are from New Jersey.

The taxi driver starts to ruminate on the state of affairs in the world. “God is going to give the punishment in this life to all the evil doers!”, he declares forcefully. “Look at the Arab dictators, they are afraid, they are hiding, afraid for their lives!”

Natalie pipes in,
“We are all Arab in this car” she says smiling.

The taxi driver thinks she’s joking, but she’s serious. He doesn’t know quite what to say. There is complete silence in the taxi, until we reach the hotel.

“How much?” asks Howard.

The fare has gone up.

“That will be 40 shekels”, says the driver.

Dark chocolate and Red Roses at the Carlton

Nice home in Gilo Settlement

Young musician in the Jewish Quarter

Marocco Restaurant in the Arab Quarter

Dome of the Rock

Muslim pigeon

Muhammad and Ali

This Gate leads to the Mosque Grounds

Mosque grounds need maintenance

Cats dig through trash piled near mosque entrance

Yoni, Howard and Natalie at the Western Wall Plaza

Procession of pilgrims down Via Dolorosa

Little Girls ready for prayer

IDF Soldiers in the Old City

Armenian Pottery and Glassware shop in the old city

Church of the Holy Sepulchre

Jesus' body was laid here when he was taken down from the cross.

Syrian Orthodox Chapel in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, destroyed by fire but not rebuilt

Synagogue Dome and Mosque Minaret

Golden Dome against a Cloudless Blue Sky

Posters for Sale in the Jewish Quarter

First dinner meeting in Tel Aviv, getting to know fellow OTI members

Efrat Settlement

Efrat Street

Efrat home

We could easily be in a nice Southern California suburb, looking at the shining clean streets lined with red roofed villas, well kept yards, slopes covered with greenery and trees gently swaying in the breeze; Convincing, that is, if we don’t look in the direction of the ramshackle Palestinian village on the nearby hills, the mosque minaret a dead giveaway to its dreary surroundings .

We stop at Pizzeria Efrat, to have a quick bite, before our afternoon meeting with Rabbi Dr. Shlomo Riskin.

Pizzeria Efrat looks just like a pizza joint in Brooklyn, and owner Mordechai sits down with us to chat. The walls are lined with framed posters of a younger and very fit Mordechai, running the New York marathon.

” Efrat was built by Rabbi Riskin starting in 1984. He came from Brooklyn, and many families followed him to come settle in Efrat.  I have lived here for 22 years with my 9 kids. I have a GREAT lifestyle, a basketball court, mountains nearby, tremendous health-care for just $100/month for my whole family! My mother lives in Houston and she has terrible health-care in comparison. I don’t read the newspaper, watch TV, listen to the radio, no political nonsense! We have gone on with our lives and so have they! (meaning the Palestinians)”

(I wonder what he means when he says the Palestinians have gone on with their lives?  Which ones, the one’s who left Palestine and cannot return, or the one’s whose land Efrat settlement is built on?)

The pizza arrives. It is delicious. Thin and crispy crust, loaded with veggies, just the way I like it. Pizzeria Efrat has been the pizza joint of choice for the likes of political leaders and foreign dignitaries. It’s reputation is well deserved.

Pizzeria Efrat

“We also have one of the biggest supplies of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream”, Mordechai says proudly, motioning at the large freezers in the corner, where every tantalizing flavor is represented. I quickly eyeball the freezers for Coconut Almond Fudge Chip, my favorite, which has (alas!) been discontinued in the US (almonds got too expensive), but can’t see it. Too bad!

Feeling pleasantly full and relaxed, we stroll over to the main synagogue/community center of Efrat to meet Rabbi Riskin. It is an impressive building, simple contemporary architecture made of hewn Jerusalem stone, spacious and filled with light. We settle down on some modern looking, velvety,  ruby red couches in a large hall, with walls displaying  colorful artwork .

Efrat Synagogue

Hot beverages await us, perking us up and dispelling  some of the afternoon lethargy. It appears that the center is used to hosting lots of outside visitors.

Rabbi Riskin joins us. He is not very tall, somewhat stout, but looks dapper in his pinstripe suit and bright red tie. My eyes are drawn to his kipa, and then I notice what appears to be a renewed and fuller hair line, thanks to hair grafts. Just like anybody else, the rabbi too, cares about maintaining a youthful appearance.

Something very interesting happens next. In a jovial manner, the rabbi says something like:

“Are all of us Jewish?”, meaning the members of our group.

Not used to beginning a meeting with a public declaration of my faith, I feel a little awkward. We have met many people in Israel and the West Bank and nobody has asked that question out loud, let alone as an “ice breaker” at a group meeting.

Too polite to say “Why do you want to know?”, we dutifully go around the circle and say our names and our religion.

The rabbi begins his story:

” I’m Rabbi Shlomo Riskin. I was born and raised in Brooklyn, New York, and moved to Efrat 27 years ago, I’m a Proud Settler.There are 10-11,000 settlers who reside in the area, 99% of them are religious and attend synagogue. We have 33 synagogues.

4 generations of my family have lived here. I live here with my children and grandchildren.  My parents moved here from the United States after I did, and they are buried here.”

I get a sense that it is very important to the rabbi  that we understand and appreciate his deep generational ties to Efrat (as though living for 27 years on land that doesn’t belong to you, erases the claim of its rightful owners of centuries.)

“I have no problems with people who are different from me. I lived in African-American neighborhoods and got along famously with the black kids. I would play ball with them and they called this my ‘Jew beanie’”, he motions to his kipa.

“I am a leader of an initiative to promote Christian-Jewish understanding and cooperation. Muslims are afraid of being part of the dialogue because of the threat of reprisals as a result of being seen as ‘collaborators’ with the Jews.

When I first came to Efrat I made it a point to learn about the local Arab culture. I invited all the neighboring ‘mukhtars’ (leaders of the villages) to my home for dinner. I knew it was not acceptable to serve alcohol to Muslims so I was sensitive not to serve any wine. I became good friends with one of the neighboring mukhtars. With a $25MM donation promised by a financier friend in the US, I wanted to partner with the Arab mukhtar and open a Muslim-Christian-Jewish hospital.

A short while later, the mukhtar was found dead, hanging naked from a tree with his genitals removed.

We are two people with roots in the same land, vying for the land. Jews have always lived here in an unbroken chain for 4000 years.”

(I thought Moses lived about 3000 years ago?)

“About the time Israel came into existence , 22 Arab states were formed. England cared about the Arab world. They wanted to give 80% of the land to Arabs and 20% to Jews. Eventually Jews got 35% but lost East Jerusalem. Arabs were ‘dislocated’ in the war, but right of return is nonsense! ” the rabbi says vehemently.”

(The rabbi needs to consult factcheck.org to brush up his historical facts. Israel was created with 55% of the land and 45% for the proposed Palestinian state. The Jewish-Arab population split at the time, was 30% Jewish and 70% Arab. )

He continues:

“I believe that what unites us should be stronger than what divides us.  I believe in the strong Jewish moorings of Christianity.”

(I’m a little confused.  Forgive my ignorance but I don’t believe Jews accept Jesus to be the Messiah. And what about the strong Jewish and Christian moorings of Islam, which considers both Moses and Jesus prophets?)

“We here believe in our own military security. There have been more than 20 indictments of Israel. We don’t trust the UN and the world.  What kind of crazy irrational religion tells its followers to go kill themselves? You know what research has found about suicide bombers? They are not poor, illiterate and oppressed. They are middle class and educated. A war with suicide bombers is impossible to win, unless you nuke the other side. We won’t nuke the other side…But if we have to, we will.

We are all children of Abraham. We should exist in peace. I have wonderful relations with the Palestinians. They do all kinds of work on the settlement.

I support a two state solution, and I believe Temple Mount should be internationalized, with a synagogue and a church built on top.“

Daniel wants to make sure he heard right and asks:

“Where do you think the synagogue and a church should be built, on top?”

“Yes, why not?” the rabbi answers.

“Look, there is no limit to the concessions I would make for peace. If it means leaving Efrat, I will. I will get out of Efrat, get out of Jerusalem, get out of Tel Aviv!”

(Now he’s getting a little carried away. Yes he did say that, I wrote it down.)

Here comes the punchline:

“But Morality says: No suicide bombers!”

(In my opinion Morality says: No Bombers, period. Whether they are of the nuclear, conventional or suicidal variety)

I’m getting a bit riled up now and ask the rabbi a question:

” I completely agree with you that suicide bombing is irrational and utterly reprehensible. But it’s much more than just a simple death cult. It defies logic that there are never ending factories of suicide bombers, ready to give up their lives.  This ‘never ending’ phenomenon begs the question, what are the conditions that exist, that perpetuate this phenomenon and motivate a seemingly endless stream of people to squander their lives in this senseless manner?”

“What do you think are the reasons?” the rabbi says.

(He is clever. He wants to hear my views first so he rebuts and gets the last word. I see through this and refuse to fall into the trap.)

“No, what do you think?”  I maintain.

He repeats something along the lines that it’s the religious fanatics.

“And we have one right here”, I whisper under my breath, thinking nobody heard me, until I hear Ellen suppress a chuckle on my right. Oops!

When he is done I speak up:

” The reason this endless stream of suicide bombers exists is not solely because of fanatical religious ideology. It also has much to do with the hard fact that the two parties to this conflict are hugely unequal in every way. One side is is much stronger militarily, economically and politically. The weaker side has no tanks, no fighter jets, no missiles or nukes or phosphorus shells. So they use their bodies as weapons, and use them in an irrational and reprehensible manner, that inflicts the most damage to the enemy”

What needs to be recognized is that every human life lost is a tragedy; it is immaterial whether it is Arab or Jew. According to conservative estimates by Israeli human rights organization B’Tselem at least 6 times as many Palestinians as Israelis, have been killed  between 2000-2008. At least 10 times as many Palestinian children have been killed.

As we say goodbye to Rabbi Riskin and leave the center I see an Arab visitor on the street, perhaps a workman. As I glance over my shoulder, I see that the rabbi greets him effusively and shakes the Arab’s hand for a very long time.

In researching Rabbi Riskin, I discovered this interesting analysis about his life and activities by orthodox Jewish professor of philosophy, Jerry Haber of Jerusalem:

Shlomo Riskin-Bad Moral Luck

Giving Rabbi Riskin a gift from our group

²⁹ Then he gave them these instructions: “I am about to be gathered to my people. Bury me with my fathers in the cave in the field of Ephron the Hittite, ³⁰ the cave in the field of Machpelah, near Mamre in Canaan, which Abraham bought as a burial place from Ephron the Hittite, along with the field. ³¹ There Abraham and his wife Sarah were buried, there Isaac and his wife Rebekah were buried, and there I buried Leah. ^32[o] ” The field and the cave in it were bought from the Hittites.

³³ When Jacob had finished giving instructions to his sons, he drew his feet up into the bed, breathed his last and was gathered to his people.  (Genesis 49: 29-33)

The Tomb of the Patriarchs aka the Ibrahimi Mosque

Mamre was the ancient name for Hebron and this is the Biblical reference to the Cave of Machpela, which is the burial chamber of the Patriarchs (Abraham, Isaac, Jacob along with Sarah, Rebecca and Leah), located underground  directly below the tomb complex.

The Book of Zohar, the main source of Jewish Kabbalistic mysticism, regards the cave as the threshold to the Garden of Eden, and the place where Adam buried Eve, and was later buried himself.

At the Gutnick Center in the Jewish part of the old city of Hebron, we meet Noam Arnon, a leader of the Jewish settler community. Noam is middle aged and personable. He is dressed casually in a light blue shirt, black pants, kipa on his head and key ring dangling from a pocket.

Noam tells us about the history of Tomb of the Patriarchs or the Cave of Machpela, regarded as the roots of the Jewish people, if not all mankind. He hands out books about the ancient holy site that he has helped write.

Noam says that a small community of Jews had been living in Hebron in an unbroken chain for two thousand years. Their relations with their Arab neighbors were for the most part cordial until the Hebron massacre (during the British Mandate period) in 1929, when 67 Jews out of a community of about 500, were murdered  by Arabs answering the call of the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem, Hajj Amin al-Husaini.

The British police did nothing to protect the Jews. About 40 Arabs saved the Jews.

The Jews left Hebron and returned in 1968, the year after Hebron was “liberated” by Israel (from Jordan) in the  Six-Day War . A group of Jews rented the main hotel in Hebron and then refused to leave. After more than a year and a half of agitation and a bloody Arab attack on the Hebron settlers, the Israeli government agreed to allow the group to establish a settlement on the outskirts of the city, Kiryat Arba, now the home of 1500 Jewish families. Another 80 families live in the old city of Hebron.

Noam is upset about the discrimination against the Jews in that they are “not yet” allowed to build/purchase property anywhere they like in the West Bank town of Hebron, whereas there are no such restrictions on the Arabs.

From the Gutnick Center we walk over to the Tomb of the Patriarchs compound and Noam continues his talk:

” This site is as old as the story of Abraham, which happened 4000 years ago. The present structure was first added by King Herod about 2000 years ago in 30 BCE. Only Jews lived here 2000 years ago so the original structure itself was built by Jews. ” Noam points out the visible differences in the old parts of the outside wall of the compound, and the later construction added by Muslims.

“During 1267-1967, for 700 years, the Mameluks and Turks denied the rights of Jews and Christians to enter the holy site. Jews were not permitted to ascend beyond the seventh step outside the walls, and that’s where they stood and prayed.”

Despite huge resistance and harassment by Arabs, the present Jewish community in Hebron is simply carrying on the work of the Jews who lived here in an unbroken chain, for thousands of years. Hebron timeline .

“We just want to live normal lives”, says Noam.

Noam (left) motions towards the Arab hawkers, straddling the barrier to the Jewish part of the old city

“Things were different before 1994″, says Noam, “People moved about freely. You could go to your Arab mechanic in Bethlehem, and your Jewish dentist in Tel Aviv.”

All that changed in 1994 with the Purim incident. The Tombs of the Patriarchs complex was partitioned with Muslims granted 82% of the area and Jews 18%. Noam leads us to the Jewish synagogue. Security is very tight.

Muslims are not allowed in the Jewish section, and Jews are not allowed in the Muslim section. Last year our daughter Mariam’s entire student group was asked to leave when she publicly declared that she was a Muslim by covering her hair. We have been briefed to say that we are Christian. It feels very uncomfortable but we do. The men all have to wear paper kipas. We go inside.

Entering the Synagogue

In the main hall of the synagogue

The Arabic calligraphy is intact around Sarah's Tomb

Abraham's tomb. The Hebrew inscription reads, "The Grave of Zion. Avraham, our Father"

The Hebrew inscription reads, "The Grave of Zion, Sarah, our Mother"

I am named after Sarah, the wife of Abraham. It feels strange to behold my tomb.

We walk out and pass the Yeshiva students in orthodox Jewish garb, poring over their religious texts. I look closely and am amused to see that one young student has fallen asleep, bent over his books.

Security is even tougher on the Muslim (Ibrahimi Mosque) side of the complex. Now it’s the  Jewish  group members’ turn to be embarrassed and uncomfortable. They have to lie and say they are Christian.

Security gate on the mosque side

Once we enter, Amjad from the Waqf  (the Trust that manages the mosque), scurries behind us. He personally starts putting long hooded robes on all the ladies in our group, even though we are all capable of dressing ourselves, and everyone is modestly dressed anyway. This is even more embarrassing.

We tell him that we would like to offer prayers. “Six minutes, six minutes only!” he says, hurrying us.

Trying to establish a supersonic spiritual connection with God keeping in view the “six minute” deadline, Athar and I scramble to say our prayers, really fast.

As soon as we finish Amjad starts to point out the main attractions of the site, from the Muslim side:

Abraham, or Ibrahim's Tomb from the Muslim side

Lamb aperture, directly above the burial cave, where four lights burn for the Patriarchs

Here is my tomb again, from the Muslim side

Main prayer hall with decoartive 'mimbar' or pedestal for the imam

Amjad finishes his quick tour and demands donations for the mosque. Athar and I put our donation in the box. Daniel gives his donation directly to Amjad, and he slips it into his pocket as soon as Daniel turns away.

Noam joins up with us once more outside the complex, and takes us for a walking tour of the Jewish Quarter.

Again, my eyes take in the familiar, desolate landscape of shuttered shops, road blocks and barbed wire. There is no restoration of the old city here, and no plaques thanking the donors for the restoration. The only plaques I see are those affixed on street corners, memorializing the settlers who died in that spot, from sniper fire.

The terribly high cost of providing security to this tiny community of 500 settlers becomes clear:

Shuttered shops barbed wire blocks alleys

Barbed wire separates Arabs from Jews

Not a single shop on this street was open

The plaque reads: In Memory of Rabbi Shlomo Yitzhak Shapira, murdered at this site by an Arab terrorist, September 23, 2002

Another concrete roadblock reinforced with barbed wire

Security surveillance camera above Jewish apartments

Kids playground in the Jewish section

Memorial to 10 month old Shalhevet Pass, killed in her baby carriage, by Arab sniper fire. Her father was injured by the same bullet.

Since the outbreak of the Al-Aqsa Intifada in September 2000 – which marked the beginning of the most recent upsurge in violence in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict – at least 954 Palestinian and 123 Israeli children under the age of 18 have been killed, according to B’Tselem, an Israeli human rights monitoring group. According to a MIFTAH report between September 28, 2000 and September 30, 2008 999 Palestinian children and 123 Israeli children were killed. These figures include 32 Palestinian babies stillborn at checkpoints (not included by B’Tselem). Children and minors in the conflict

This historic old synagogue which was functioning until 1929, was razed and used as an animal pen until 1967. Now it has been rebuilt by the settlers.

These valuable old Torah scrolls were hidden and somehow saved during the 1929 massacre, and have been miraculously returned to the old synagogue.

Beautiful Torah Scrolls, old and new

Street murals depicting the 1929 massacre of 67 Jews in Hebron

This used to be the wholesale vegetable market, which the settlers converted into living quarters. The Israeli government forced them out, and Noam was upset about that

Though we did not get to ride it, this decorated cart is perhaps used to provide transportation to tourists?

Hebrom museum memorializing the 1929 massacre of Jews, with a section dedicated to Hajj Amin el Hussaini, Grand Mufti of Jerusalem

Pictures of the 67 Jews who were killed in the massacre

David Wilder, the community PR person and spokesman and our guide at the museum

Sign demanding the return of land stolen by Arabs from the Jews after 1929

David Wilder is the PR person for the Hebron settler community. He moved to Hebron from the United States. He has a quietly  intense manner and blazing eyes. He carries a gun.

David guides through the beautiful museum memorializing the 1929 massacre. Scenes of Jewish daily life before the massacre transition to images of destruction. David reiterates that Jews have lived in Hebron in “an unbroken chain” for thousands of years and the present settlers are just carrying on the work of their predecessors who were driven out.

I raise my hand to ask a question:

“David, you feel very strongly about the rights of Jews to return to Hebron and reclaim the land that was taken away from them. What is your position on the right of return for the 700,000 Palestinians who were driven out in 1948 and prevented from returning to their homes and their land?”

David regards me with his blazing, intense eyes and declares,

” Those people left of their own accord, in a war. If they decide to leave, that’s their problem, it’s not my problem.“

Hebron is an ancient and historic city 5500 years old. It is the site of the Ibrahimi Mosque (Tomb of the Patriarchs) where Abraham, Sarah, Isaac, Rebekah,Jacob and Leah are buried. The site is considered holy by Jews, Christians and Muslims.

Hebron is the largest commercial and industrial city in the West Bank. The area had  been under Muslim control from the twelfth century until 1967, when Israel occupied the city after its victory over Jordan in the 1967 war. Extremist Jewish settlers moved into town starting in 1968, and now there are 5 settlements in and around the city of Hebron.

The 400 settlers in downtown Hebron, together with the 1500 IDF troops deployed for their protection, have paralyzed life in the old city, reducing it to a ghost town. Settlers are allowed to carry automatic weapons. There are over 100 road blocks and closures in a 1 km area. With the closure of the main “Shuhada Street”, what used to be a 2 minute walk now has become a 12 km trip. 76.6% of the shops in the old city have either been closed by IDF military order, or forced to close due to lack of business.

The Hebron Rehabilitation Committee with help from many overseas donors has refurbished parts of the old city of Hebron. The city was selected out of 550 competitors and won the the Aga Khan award for restoration, presented by King Juan Carlos of Spain.

The old city of Hebron is ancient and full of character. We walk through narrow paved streets, covered with vaulted archways and  lined with lovely buildings made of hand hewn stone.  Sunlight streams into the clearings and yet the air feels cool.  The city is mostly deserted, as we walk through the narrow covered alleyways , empty homes and shops everywhere, devoid of their occupants, eerily silent, sad but beautiful.

Lovely clay pottery latticework decorates ancient Hebron buildings

Sunlight filters into a "Housh" in the old city. Each family compound is called a housh and has its own entrance gate

Most of the shops in the old city were shuttered

Shopkeeper wearing the traditional Palestinian Keffiyeh

This street is covered with mesh to catch the trash that is thrown on the Arab shops by settlers in the apartments above

George asks us to support this handicrafts store whose owner has two sons in college

Restored market square with closed shops in the background

Commemorative plaques adorn many streets, identifying the donors who helped with the restoration

The Freedom Coffee Shop

Handmade ceramics workshop

Permanent road closure on a main street

Walid buys us sweets at this candy store, so famous, that it has never ever closed

Shops closed by IDF military order have their doors welded shut

Hebron sign points the direction to "Al Quds" (Jerusalem)

Colorful pickles for sale

General provisions store. The young man in the foreground was a hawker, who followed us everywhere

Checkpoint at the ibrahimi Mosque. Six entrances to the mosque are now closed and only one remains open. Worshippers are checked three times before they get into the mosque

More shuttered shops, past the checkpoint close to the mosque

Hebron Hawkers

Throughout our walk we were stalked by some very persistent young hawkers. They carried their wares in plastic bags, inexpensive souvenirs like stretchy beaded “Palestinian flag” bracelets and little hand embroidered purses. if we bought something from one, the others got upset that we didn’t buy anything from them. They hounded us wherever we went, and we didn’t know whether to be sympathetic, or annoyed.

They were not very pleasant, maybe even dangerous, yet they made me intensely sad.

One of them wore a shirt that said “Peace will come, Why not now?” The other young man, thin, with a gaunt expression, had anger and a hint of desperation in his eyes. I don’t know why they made me so sad. I wondered if they had parents, siblings, families to support. Such hawkers are very common, in fact they are all over the city streets in my native Pakistan. But it was the anger, simmering just below the surface friendliness of these Palestinian youths, that got to me.

Anger at being pushed around, being marginalized, being powerless to step out of their meager, day to day existence.

Anger that had simmered a long time, that if left unchecked, threatened to boil over, explode and consume everything around them.

A view of the Ibrahimi Mosque from a Hebron rooftop

We drive to Hebron in the morning and arrive in the bustling West Bank city to meet the mayor, Khaled Osaily.

We have been warned that visiting Hebron will be an emotionally trying experience. It is arguably the most “divided” city in the occupied territories, with huge tensions between Jewish settlers and the local Arab population.

On our bus ride there, our guide George Rishmawi entertains us with some fun facts about the city to lighten the mood.  Hebron residents have a taste for camel meat. The city is famous for the best falafel.

George asks directions as our bus gets stuck in a steep Hebron alley

George also points out to us the TIPH observers wearing red armbands that say “Observer” . TIPH is a temporary international civil observer mission, whose job is to report on breaches of international law and agreements on Hebron, to their 6 constituent countries and to Israeli government and the PA.

TIPH observers are unarmed civilians

with Mayor Osaily

Mayor Khaled Osaily is gentlemanly and charming, dressed in a well-cut suit. We take turns introducing ourselves and when he hears that Athar and I are from San Diego, he points out that much of the stone and marble used at the San Diego airport came from his city, Hebron.

The mayor mentions that he will be having dinner that night in Bethlehem, with visiting US Vice President Joe Biden.

Daniel Wehrenfenig, our group leader, says that our delegation is there to be a “Voice for you”.

The mayor replies, “Be a voice not for us, but for Peace. Do whatever you can for peace.”

Mayor Osaily also points out emphatically that, “Peace means justice”.

Here are some excerpts from the mayor’s briefing:

“Hebron, at over 4000 years old, is one of the oldest cities in world. There are at least 2 cities named after Hebron in the United States. It is the largest city in the occupied West Bank with a population of about 250,000, and the entire province has about 700,000 people. The West Bank was captured by Israel from Jordan in 1967, so Hebron has been under Israeli occupation for 43 years.

In 1968, a group of radical Jews rented rooms in a Hebron hotel and refused to leave. In 1979, a few extremist settlers from Brooklyn arrived, occupied a downtown building in the middle of the night and started a settlement.

On February 25, 1994 Baruch Goldstein, an American-born Jewish physician, perpetrated the Ibrahimi mosque (Cave of the Patriarchs) massacre, killing 29 Muslims kneeling at prayer and wounding another 150. The mosque was subsequently divided.

Today,  there are 5 Jewish settlements in and around this West Bank city, including the largest, ‘Kiryat Arba’ which was Dr. Goldstein’s home.

The 400 or so downtown Hebron settlers, guarded by 4 times as many IDF soldiers, have turned life upside down for the residents of Hebron. Downtown Hebron with the historic Qasba or market, and the Ibrahimi Mosque (Cave of the Patriarchs) at its center, has become a ghost town. There are over 100 roadblocks and closures within a 1km area. Many streets have been completely closed to the Arab residents, and not even the mayor can go on those streets.  1000 apartments have been evacuated and 1819 shops have been forcibly shuttered or forced to close.

Downtown Hebron  has become a ghost town.

The city has been divided into zones Hebron 1 and 2 (H1 and H2). H2 is completely under IDF control. The old city has endured curfews of up to 280 days in a year.

Shuhada Street, the main road in downtown Hebron is closed by military order, despite a high court decision revoking the closure. $3MM was given by the United States on the condition that the road be re-opened but it remains closed to this day.”

Mayor Osaily invites all peace lovers and lovers of history to join him as he recently signed an agreement 10/21/09 to give Hebron the status through UNESCO of “Heritage for Humankind”

“The Israeli government last year decided to add the Ibrahimi Mosque to their list of Jewish Heritage sites. This is as outrageous as any Muslim country, let’s say Indonesia, putting the mosque of Cordoba in Spain, on the list of its heritage sites. We want to preserve the mosque as it is. The Israeli government wants to add ceilings, and make many changes in the mosque”,  says mayor Osaily.

“58% of Hebron’s population is under 18, and the youth had no infrastructure for sports or culture.  We wanted to get our youth off the streets, so we built the first stadium, the first peace park, the first enclosed performance hall. We want to concentrate on culture, music and sports to bring normal life and moderation to our people.”

I ask the mayor why the local population cannot peacefully coexist with the Jewish settlers.

“We are ready to coexist with normal people”, he replies, “Normal people, people like Avraham Burg, former Speaker of the Knesset whose mother was a Hebronite, and was saved by an Arab family during the 1929 Hebron massacre. He has a home here and we have no problem with that.

But these settlers are fanatic, they are not normal people. They are not Hebronites, they are either from Brooklyn or from Russia.  They are economic settlers who receive lots of money and incentives from the Israeli government. The United States even allows 501(c)3 status for agencies to raise funds to build new Jewish settlements in the occupied territories.”

On Hebron’s economic condition, he has this to say:

“In Hebron, we face 33% unemployment, and have 3 universities producing more than 500 IT and engineering graduates annually, for whom we have no jobs.

We need foreign investment but foreign investment needs political stability and free movement of people and goods, things we cannot provide. People’s movement is severely restricted. Hundreds of people die at checkpoints with heart attacks, hundreds of women at checkpoints give birth in private cars. There are not enough hospitals to serve the population.”

Daniel asks the mayor what he thinks about the announcement that a fountain in Ramallah will be named after a suicide bomber.

Frustration is evident in his voice as the mayor says, “Don’t get all stirred up over these small inflammatory acts. Dr. Goldstein’s grave is a shrine too. Hundreds of people visit Baruch Goldstein’s tomb every year and regards him as a hero.”

I inquire about his views on the 1929 massacre of 67 Jews in Hebron during the British Mandate period.

Mayor Osaily replies, “ It was instigated by a British agent who incited the Arabs to violence by false rumors that Jews were massacring Arabs in Jerusalem and seizing control of Muslim holy places.”

He points out that during the massacre, a majority of the Jews (over 400) were saved from the mob by their Arab neighbors.

Little boy on a Hebron street. He was afraid and did not accept the small gifts we tried to give him

Boys returning from school

We saw a lot of small children standing or playing in the streets

Bathroom queue at the Hebron Rehabilitation Center