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It’s a treat to visit The Jordanian Royal Stables, home to over 200 of the world’s finest pure bred Arabian horses.
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
We leave for Jordan bright and early the next morning, at 6:00 am.
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
I expect there to be a whole lot more security than there turns out to be. I expect an interrogation, a full body search, bag examination with those funny looking wands that detect explosives; after all, I am a Pakistani-American Muslim, flying to Tel Aviv. Flying Turkish Airlines from Istanbul, no less, in the aftermath of the grisly Gaza Freedom Flotilla incident.
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
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