A few stories for contemplation, from East Jerusalem

I've been in East Jerusalem for the past couple of days. Hisham, the owner of the hostel M and I are staying at, had a birthday party last night, so we stayed an extra day here in order to go to that...M knows him from his last trip. There was music and dancing and cake. And lots of people who either lived here in Palestine or had stayed here at the hostel in the past and were doing all kinds of activist work all around the West Bank. It was great to get to talk to all of them and hear their stories and learn about their projects.
Yesterday was Christmas. It was interesting to realize that while this is where Jesus was (supposedly) born, and thus where Christianity began, all the images we get of Christmas in the States come from this totally European paradigm- M pointed this out to me actually-- snow, for example. Yesterday was cold at night, similar to SF weather, but there was no snow, and there were no pine trees, but palm trees instead! Another example of European hegemony being invisibilized I guess.


Some short stories for contemplation:


While wandering around the suuks (markets) in East Jerusalem, in the "Old City," M and I come across this one Palestinian man from near Hebron, whose name I think is Isaac, or something like that, who has a huge collection of what were basically Palestinian antiques. Turns out he used to be a professor, but now he is old and retired and is selling his own collection of things in order to put his son through college. He explains that he started collecting in 1947 or 1948, i don't remember which, because he "realized that eventually there would be nothing left" and he wants to preserve the memory, if nothing else. He has amazing things, old keys, beautiful dresses, mirrors with silk weaved into beautiful patterns...he tells us about them and his life. Two of the mirrors were from a refugee camp and had been made in 1948, right after the "nakba." He tells us that he wants us to buy them and then write the stories of where they came from next to them and hang them up in the States so people there will hear their stories.
As we are talking to him, two Israeli soldiers come by. Neither M nor I can understand their conversation, which I guess was probably in Hebrew. He talks "politely" with one of the soldiers and the other one just sort of stands there and looks at me and M suspiciously as though he is trying to figure us out. Then the soldiers leave.
Isaac goes right back to the conversation he'd been having with us before...he sells me a bag. I ask him about two strings of coins which are hanging up on the shelf, telling him there is no way I will be able to afford them, but I am curious if he doesn't mind explaining. He tells me they are Turkish and then takes out a book to show me a picture of people wearing the strings of coins.
As he does this, he leans closer.
"I was afraid of those soldiers," he says, his voice quieter than it was before, as though it were coming from a different person. A complete different tone.
I nod. "Yea," and I hope that the generic "look of understanding" from the States also translates from English to Arabic. From the response on his face, I am glad to see that it does.
"What did they want?" I ask.
"They wanted something to cut wood," he answers.
We look at each other for a moment. I want to hug him or run screaming after the soldiers or simply take his hands and say "I'm so sorry, this is so fucked up!" but I do not know if that would be culturally appropriate. So a shared look for a moment is enough.
He moves back to his original position with the book and continues telling me about the Turkish coins. His voice goes back to what it was before, strong, boisterous.
I realize that to him, this is normal. normalized.

Later on, M and I go to the Israeli post office to mail stuff to ourselves - we have to, because we can't take our Palestinian souvenirs back with us through the airport. On the way in, there is a guy who searches us. I beep because I have metal on my belt and coins in my bag. He asks "Do you have coins in your bag?" I say "Yes," and I begin to hand it to him. "Oh no, that's okay. Go ahead." He says. I am struck by the intense amount of privilege in this interaction. And I do not even live here. Fuck. I am angry. But I realize this is not the time to argue, as I do really want the packages to get to the States safe and sound. M and I speak in English loudly on the way in, no longer particularly concerned with being respectful. And also, we have to remember not to accidentally use our limited Arabic, and to say "thank you" instead of "shukran" when the guy behind the window gives us our change. They are disgustingly nice to us, and we realize why- - we are US Jews -- the Israelis want us to have a "great time" in "Israel," don't they? Damn. We have to write a return address on the packages we're sending. The guy behind the counter says to M, in something like broken English "Do you live or are you staying in Israel?" I wonder how M will answer. "I'm staying here," he says. I hear the "here" as emphatic (because "here" is not "Israel"), but M says it was just coincidence. Overanalyzing I guess. But everything here seems to take on so much meaning.

Now I need to get going because M and I are going to Tel Rumeida, which is near Hebron. We are going to stay with families there and help kids get to school, which is hard, because of all the settler violence. Mostly, Israeli kids throw rocks at the Palestinian kids, and the Israeli army looks on, nodding, saying "What harm can they be doing? They're just kids." Of course if a Palestinian kid throws a rock, the Israeli army sees it differently, says their a threat, sometimes even shoots. I forgot who it was, but someone who was telling us about the situation in Tel Rumeida, telling us how the Israeli kids throw rocks at the Palestinians on their way to school, said "The only good thing is, at least they aren't as good at it as the Palestinian kids." It is important to find the only good thing, the "at least," in a situation like this.Okay, I'm off to the West Bank.
Will report again soonish.