As the day of atonement in Israel commences I find myself inconveniently trapped inside the West Bank. As Ha'aretz concluded, admittedly a very fair and balanced publication which I read daily, it is a security necessity for Israel to close all checkpoints in and out of the West Bank as well as to shut down connecting roads within the West Bank.
As many of you probably know by now, I live in East Jerusalem just steps from the old walled city and only minutes from the West Bank. My neighborhood (mentioned frequently in the NYT lately as Sheikh Jarrah because many settlers have moved in and forcibly pushed Palestinians out of their homes for less than legally acceptable reasons) was taken by the Israelis in 1967 and is to this day considered an illegal occupation according to a 1968 United Nations resolution. And yet it is an Arab neighborhood whose residents have many familial, business, and educational ties with the neighboring West Bank towns.
As a city and region, as I sit here writing, we are palpably experiencing division and segregation. As the crow flies I am only about 15 minutes from my house and yet I am unable to get there. Admittedly this was my choice. Last night, whilst relaxing in a beer garden in Ramallah we received a phone call from a UN contact alerting us that all the checkpoints would close at midnight and would remain closed until Tuesday (keep in mind Yom Kippur lasts only from today at sundown until Monday at sundown). In a panic I rushed back to Jerusalem to fetch my clothes and books so that I would make it back to the West Bank and be able to get to work on Sunday and Monday. A minor inconvenience in the grand scheme of things for me, but what about Palestinians who need to enter Jerusalem to, say, have a baby in the hospital where they receive their medical care? And still the plot thickens...
We have since found out that all "Israeli" roads, even those that are largely West Bank arteries, will be completely closed until Tuesday AM. We were also told by the UN that even roads that are not officially closed will be no doubt populated by settlers walking to and fro who have been known to stone vehicles (irregardless of origin- Israeli, Palestinian, foreign) moving in the road, breaking windows and inflicting bodily harm.
We live in an apartheid state, that much as become clear to me after only seven weeks here although I am far from claiming expertise. And yet I can say with certainty that Ha'aretz is wrong in their claim: closing West Bank roads and all of the entry and exit points between Israel, the occupied territories and even Palestinian Authority territory is not because of security threats. I know countless individuals who speak openly about entering Israel proper through vast swathes of land that is not bifurcated by the segregation wall, mostly to go to the Aqsa mosque to pray (certainly not to blow things up!)
There are silver linings in this cloud, however. I have found myself falling in love with this country and the rare moments of beauty. Really, I swear! I already have a favorite cafe, called Kadosh, in a secular neighborhood in West Jerusalem. In that safe haven I have been able to have very open and frank discussions with the person seated next to me at this or that outdoor table, usually sparked by an ultra orthodox woman begging for money or an article I'm reading on al-Jazeera openly and in plain sight on my computer. And of course the Palestinians: the patience and endurance I witness on a daily basis, the intelligence when it comes to the issues at hand-- it's nothing like what we see on the news.
But more of that to come. Right now I need to enjoy my Israeli-imposed Ramallah holiday!
27 September 2009
16 July 2009
nyc, round two
Second summer in NYC without an actual residency and it's different this year.
It's occurred to me today that I'm impatient and exasperated with much of what the city holds for me, especially with certain individuals. I alternate between feeling somewhat forgotten and angry at that, to angry at people who remind me of a time when I was more confused than I am now, namely last summer.
This is the first time since 1996 when I first summered in NYC whilst still in college that I feel like a foreigner in my own city. Of course I can blend in easily enough, routine and all-- starbucks in the morning, followed by rushing down the subways stairs while trying to balance a nyt, latte and gym shoes in the same hand as i did for my metro card, which is later inevitably followed by a drink at Jakewalk and perhaps some food on smith street. The routine fits me like a well-worn glove, but the feeling of loneliness is not the same. In times past I would often feel alone, but wistfully alone, as though the city offered endless possiblities just waiting for me. This time I feel somewhat abandoned and displaced. I've caught myself taking photographs of seemingly familiar sites-- the corner of Smith and Sackett, the walk to Boca Luppo-- as though I am trying to jar some memory of a feeling that is in abeyance.
And this summer the friendships feel different, more distant. People who used to hold secure places in my life and me in theirs have slipped away. I know very little about their lives, thoughts, dreams, and angst. Even as I lie here a bit sadly reminiscent of better times past, I think that maybe it's time to let a lot of that go. I tend to cling to old ideas, feelings, moments. Maybe a head doctor would say that I've failed to reach the next developmental stage because I've been so hung up on my friends.
Or maybe I'm just being dramatic.
It's occurred to me today that I'm impatient and exasperated with much of what the city holds for me, especially with certain individuals. I alternate between feeling somewhat forgotten and angry at that, to angry at people who remind me of a time when I was more confused than I am now, namely last summer.
This is the first time since 1996 when I first summered in NYC whilst still in college that I feel like a foreigner in my own city. Of course I can blend in easily enough, routine and all-- starbucks in the morning, followed by rushing down the subways stairs while trying to balance a nyt, latte and gym shoes in the same hand as i did for my metro card, which is later inevitably followed by a drink at Jakewalk and perhaps some food on smith street. The routine fits me like a well-worn glove, but the feeling of loneliness is not the same. In times past I would often feel alone, but wistfully alone, as though the city offered endless possiblities just waiting for me. This time I feel somewhat abandoned and displaced. I've caught myself taking photographs of seemingly familiar sites-- the corner of Smith and Sackett, the walk to Boca Luppo-- as though I am trying to jar some memory of a feeling that is in abeyance.
And this summer the friendships feel different, more distant. People who used to hold secure places in my life and me in theirs have slipped away. I know very little about their lives, thoughts, dreams, and angst. Even as I lie here a bit sadly reminiscent of better times past, I think that maybe it's time to let a lot of that go. I tend to cling to old ideas, feelings, moments. Maybe a head doctor would say that I've failed to reach the next developmental stage because I've been so hung up on my friends.
Or maybe I'm just being dramatic.
18 May 2009
pre and post
Woke earlier than normal this morning, post-call to prayer, pre-Morris begging for food.
Walked to the gym through the tree-lined streets of Maadi, thinking along the way that the morning heat was reminiscent of summers in Connecticut: that pre-steamy smell and feel of the sun's rays.
Back home post-gym to a now meowing Morris and Maha sweeping the carpets while the vacuum lays prostrate in the back bedroom.
Day two is certainly better.
Walked to the gym through the tree-lined streets of Maadi, thinking along the way that the morning heat was reminiscent of summers in Connecticut: that pre-steamy smell and feel of the sun's rays.
Back home post-gym to a now meowing Morris and Maha sweeping the carpets while the vacuum lays prostrate in the back bedroom.
Day two is certainly better.
06 May 2009
Unfinished
The sand has finally stopped storming over the little town of Maadi in the bigger town of Cairo. My lungs have taken yet another beating. A coughing fit visited me during the credits of "He's just not that into you," interrupting the first time I'd heard Robert Smith's voice wailing during a film that Friday is an appropriate day for him to be in love. Definitely something I like about Drew Barrymore productions: the girl's got good music taste.
The film itself I give no more than a B, maybe even with a minus. Undoubtedly it's difficult to turn a dating advice book-- organized according to vignettes punctuated by questions and followed by all too obvious answers-- into a fictionalized story that can hold the viewers' interest for 2 hours. [Parenthetically I wonder how much of the film was sliced and diced-- what juicy sex scenes did I miss out on having watched it in Cairo?]
The film itself I give no more than a B, maybe even with a minus. Undoubtedly it's difficult to turn a dating advice book-- organized according to vignettes punctuated by questions and followed by all too obvious answers-- into a fictionalized story that can hold the viewers' interest for 2 hours. [Parenthetically I wonder how much of the film was sliced and diced-- what juicy sex scenes did I miss out on having watched it in Cairo?]
29 April 2009
movement
Anticipating change is, for me, worse than the actual act of change. As I sit here on my balcony that period of change has begun to begin: tonight is my first night alone in the apartment, most probably the first of many to come. This isn't the first time I've spent a first night alone in an apartment I've only shared with someone with whom I spend nearly all of my time. And yet the first night is always as bad as all of the previous first nights. Like times past, the first thing I did when I walked in was apply the dead bolt to the door. Why? I have no idea. Especially considering it was only 5 pm, sun still ablaze and Morris wide awake and meowing for food. And again, retracing steps from years ago, I paced around the apartment, unmotivated to perform the household tasks I usually carry out with satisfaction. The cat needed to be fed, the laundry required folding, the dishes stacked since last night's dinner begged to be done. Chores performed without the usual cheer, followed by incessant refreshing of my gmail page (someone must have emailed me today?) and then an attempt at some newspaper reading.
After hours of fidgety dissatisfaction I am at last nestled into one of the two bamboo chairs on the balcony overlooking the ongoing insanity of the bus stop, poised to begin season three of Weeds.
It will be better tomorrow.
After hours of fidgety dissatisfaction I am at last nestled into one of the two bamboo chairs on the balcony overlooking the ongoing insanity of the bus stop, poised to begin season three of Weeds.
It will be better tomorrow.
incomprehensible
I have "bookmarked" my blog [yes, I still, as of 2009, feel the need to use quotation marks around verbs not previously used to mean what they now mean] and every time I click on the bookmark I am directed to an Arabic version of my blog. I never asked for this. Does my blog somehow detect that I am in Egypt [yes, I realize I write Cairo, Egypt as my location, but I've also tried Brooklyn, NY] and therefore switch to Arabic? Shouldn't it also, if it's that smart, be able to detect that I write in English and therefore provide its offerings in my language of choice?
The real problem with the Arabic script on the internet is the size: it's nearly microscopic. Although I am familiar with the open apple + command, upon viewing the mass confusion of miniscule letters I instantly become frustrated and begin clicking on random words, without any regard for meaning. When the Arabic script is that small it seems not only foreign but thoroughly frustrating.
And this is not the only misunderstanding of the night. I seem to be confounded by my own reaction, my own feelings. I found out tonight that someone I know is pregnant. Obviously this is hardly the first time, nor will it be the last but it struck me: I have felt lost and unsure since I was told; surely confusing feelings when they are combined with my happiness for her. It just so happens that this person is less a friend of mine than the person with whom I reside; a long time friend of his. Might I also add an unmarried, long time friend in her 20s? Yes, yes, of course I am happy for her, rejoicing in her joy. And yet, it strikes me that I am somehow in the wrong place and time. I can't seem to fit things together and make them flow as they should. Not that I want that to be me today or yesterday or even tomorrow, but I don't understand why it just simply can't be like that for me, why it isn't an option.
The real problem with the Arabic script on the internet is the size: it's nearly microscopic. Although I am familiar with the open apple + command, upon viewing the mass confusion of miniscule letters I instantly become frustrated and begin clicking on random words, without any regard for meaning. When the Arabic script is that small it seems not only foreign but thoroughly frustrating.
And this is not the only misunderstanding of the night. I seem to be confounded by my own reaction, my own feelings. I found out tonight that someone I know is pregnant. Obviously this is hardly the first time, nor will it be the last but it struck me: I have felt lost and unsure since I was told; surely confusing feelings when they are combined with my happiness for her. It just so happens that this person is less a friend of mine than the person with whom I reside; a long time friend of his. Might I also add an unmarried, long time friend in her 20s? Yes, yes, of course I am happy for her, rejoicing in her joy. And yet, it strikes me that I am somehow in the wrong place and time. I can't seem to fit things together and make them flow as they should. Not that I want that to be me today or yesterday or even tomorrow, but I don't understand why it just simply can't be like that for me, why it isn't an option.
07 April 2009
Figuring out what another person is thinking is tiring. So tiring that I'm almost tempted to just throw in the towel and stop wondering. Tempted but not set following through with the suspension of my curiosity. Clearly.
An email from a friend of mine unintentionally raised an interesting question: in dealing with the men in our lives who eternally puzzle us, how can we posit suggestions about what they might be thinking-- help them clarify their thoughts, so to speak-- without seeming as though we are merely talking about our ourselves?
Recently I addressed a letter to someone that personally inserted me into this quandry. He was quick to point out that much of what I wrote was entirely about me and not about him; after all, how could I know what was going on in his head? And furthermore, how could I take such liberties with his thinking?
Months later I think it was, perhaps, a desperation of sorts; a grasping at what was comprehensible to me, which happened to be an interpretation based on how I would behave if I were in his position.
There are so many spaces and times in which we just plain "miss" each other, where two minds are clearly not one. There are more times than not when it becomes abundantly clear that we can never completely get at the essence of another's thinking no matter how much time we invest in memorizing all the details. Some things just can't be teased out.
An email from a friend of mine unintentionally raised an interesting question: in dealing with the men in our lives who eternally puzzle us, how can we posit suggestions about what they might be thinking-- help them clarify their thoughts, so to speak-- without seeming as though we are merely talking about our ourselves?
Recently I addressed a letter to someone that personally inserted me into this quandry. He was quick to point out that much of what I wrote was entirely about me and not about him; after all, how could I know what was going on in his head? And furthermore, how could I take such liberties with his thinking?
Months later I think it was, perhaps, a desperation of sorts; a grasping at what was comprehensible to me, which happened to be an interpretation based on how I would behave if I were in his position.
There are so many spaces and times in which we just plain "miss" each other, where two minds are clearly not one. There are more times than not when it becomes abundantly clear that we can never completely get at the essence of another's thinking no matter how much time we invest in memorizing all the details. Some things just can't be teased out.
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