crossing the lines

"Ooh la la!!!  What have you done?" said the young French guy behind the counter at the breakfast buffet.  I looked at him, not knowing what horrors he saw on my plate.  He explained.

"You put your croissant on the same plate as your salads and other food."

"But you only gave me one plate!"

He thought I'd come back for the croissant and muffins after my breakfast and was absolutely horrified that I mushed the desserts and food all together on my plate.  I felt so .....American, so un-European, so uncultured at that moment, that I actually thought about buying Ines de la Frassange's book, "La Parisienne" so I won't do any more faux pas.

I had obviously crossed the line without knowing it.  But this week was a week's worth of line-crossing.

The week began with a staff trip from my workplace to Jaffa's center for the blind and deaf called "Na Laga'at", which means - "Please Touch" (http://www.nalagaat.org.il/home.php).  We were served breakfast at this beautiful loft-like place off the port of Jaffa.  The waiters were all deaf and we managed to "sign" how we wanted our coffee as well as sign  "thank you".  The food was excellent. After breakfast, there was going to be a clay workshop led by blind staff in total darkness.  Most of us were terrified (including myself) to be in total darkness.  But as we were led into the darkness by one handsome young man who was totally blind (shame he couldn't see how handsome he was), he told us to put our hands on the person's shoulder in front of us and make a train towards our seats.  I heard one person panic and ask to be let out of the room, but the fact that I was with friends, and that Lou Reed's music was playing in the background, was calming enough.  There we made clay figures of the first thing we would like blind people to see if they could regain their sight.  I sighed with relief at the fact that they didn't allow spouses on this trip.  My husband would have surely made a large penis or large breasts out of clay.  But anyway, I was happy to have overcome my fear of the dark (well, that kind of darkness) and eventually will want to eat at their restaurant called "Blackout" where you eat in total darkness - there is an option of not ordering from the menu and the waiters will bring you tastings so you'd have to guess what you are eating.  Sounds like it would be a fun evening.

Two days later friends of mine came to visit Jerusalem from the States - she's Jewish, he's Italian-Catholic, or Roman Catholic or whatever it is.  I thought of taking them to Bethlehem.   On the last trip, he saw Catholic sites in Jerusalem, so why not show them some of Baby Jesus's sites. I had been to Bethlehem before legally, (http://jerusalemgypsy.blogspot.com/2010/10/oh-little-town-of-bethlehem.html), but this time, I just wanted to go without any of the hoopla,  signing forms, etc.  The Arab tour guide put us on a mini-bus - there were four of us - and off we went.  The ride was short and getting through the checkpoint was not a problem - the driver had simply told the Israeli soldier that we were all tourists.  My friends were surprised that I asked them to take passports, but yes, they are needed now.  It's not like it was years ago, when there were no checkpoints.  It's a border crossing.  For a country that's dilly-dallying about a two-state solution, it certainly felt like two states that day.  We met a local tour guide at the Church of Nativity, who also took us to the Milk Grotto and to do some "shopping" at one of the Christian-owned gift shops, which were totally bereft of tourists.  I was glad that my friends plunked down a nice amount - so much so that the owners shoved turquoise stone bracelets at us for gifts ("just take them, take them!!!").  In the middle of the tour, our guide asked me what religion we were.  I told him three Jews and a Catholic, which sounded like the beginning of a joke.  He told us he was Muslim and asked me who my favorite Biblical character was. I immediately answered Abraham, "because he opened his tent on four sides to everyone".

"Do you think we should be thrown out of the land?" he asked me.  "Of course not, and I'm not just saying this because I'm talking to you....but I do believe the Children of Abraham should all live together in the same land".  He seemed thrilled with my answer and hugged us, telling us that he loved us.  And I'm sure he was telling the truth, feeling an overwhelming sense of kinship with us Jews.  He bemoaned the fact that no Israelis come and that the Israeli  government tells tourists to stay away because "it's dangerous in Bethlehem."  It isn't dangerous in Bethlehem, which is in dire need of more tourists.  But it's not so simple for Israelis to come.  On the way back, the Israeli checkpoint soldiers checked one of our passports for the entry stamp into Israel.  I have no such stamp on my US passport of course, and luckily they only checked the guy in our group with the swarthy mustache for his entry stamp.

On Friday, on my day off work, I decided, for some unknown Godly reason, to wake up at 5:45 am to join the prayer services for the new Jewish month with the feminist group Women of the Wall (http://womenofthewall.org.il/)- at the Western Wall.  It's been two or three years since I've been there, and thought this would be quite an experience.  The Women of the Wall mostly irritate the intolerant that pray there.  These women are a group, including straight and lesbian, religious and secular, who want to have a voice, and a loud one at that, at the Western Wall.  They want to be able to sing, read from the Torah, as men do, but as women traditionally don't do, at the holy Wall.  There have been incidents where they were spat on by other women there, called all sorts of names and arrests made - but this day was quiet.  I noticed a guard hovering over the group for our protection.  There was a special beauty in praying with this group of about 50 women, who defied tradition and sang their hearts out at 7:00 in the morning, just as the sun was beginning to rise over the Wall.  Of course, there were those that tried to drown the female voices out - like the man playing his "one-man-band" and singing loudly into a microphone right in back of us on the Plaza.  But it didn't matter really.  We did what we had to do which was pray and sing to the Almighty with our hearts and souls.

Crossing lines can be wonderful, even if stressful at times.

Oh little town of Bethlehem

 "Where are you going today?" asked my curious cab driver. I couldn't get anyone to give me a lift on a bus-free Saturday morning and I had to meet the bus that would take Israelis to Bethlehem as part of the Visit Palestine group.

"Bethlehem - with a bus full of Israelis"

The cab driver proceeded to tell me how he speaks fluent Arabic, which he learned when he was a young teenager and hung out with Arabs from the Bethlehem/Hebron area - and that when he was in the South of France, the Arabs he met there thought he was a Palestinian from the Hebron area.

"They won't mess with you if they know you're from Hebron. They have a reputation" and went on to tell me about the camaraderie they shared. He never told them he was Jewish.

Unlike him and many other Jews who visit Arab countries and neighborhoods undercover, we were encouraged to speak Hebrew on this trip. The natives have to know we're Israeli and we're touring Bethlehem.

Even though Bethlehem is about a 10 minute walk from the most southern part of Jerusalem or even less, it's verboten for Israelis to enter this area. Yes, Israelis do sneak in on foreign passports and all that,but officially, it's never been done. Until now. Preparations began a couple of weeks ago when I was asked to sign a few forms that I would not hold the Israeli government or army responsible if anything happened to me in Palestinian-controlled Area A. I signed and faxed and was approved to visit Bethelehem along with around 50 other Israelis from the Tel Aviv/Jerusalem area.

At the Rachel checkpoint, where we had permission to enter, the soldiers told us that they didn't receive any fax giving us the permission. We waited over 1/2 hour and they said if they get the forms faxed, which could be in another 1/2 hour, we could go through, if not....there are other ways to get into Bethlehem. But our organizers wanted to go in the legal way and we detoured in the meanwhile towards Beit Jalah to meet our Palestinian counterparts and for a mini-dialogue. After many phone calls to different authorities, we were informed that we were okay'd to go through the Rachel checkpoint.

This was an historical moment for us all. This was the first time that Israelis who were not journalists, who were not police officers or soldiers, who were not closeted Israelis, were allowed in through this checkpoint. We were all elated and clapped as we went through the wall to the other side. We're in Bethlehem, finally.

Our organizer was telling us his friends reactions. When he tells people he's going to New York, or to Europe or wherever else abroad, his friends are like "cool! Great". But when he told them he was going to nearby Bethlehem, they're like "You crazy, man?" We want to change all that.

We met our Palestinian friends again - who came from Jericho, Nablus and Bethlehem and toured the Church of Nativity. The smell of incense was strong and the Armenian mass was going on. We were escorted by Palestinian police, who seemed perplexed at seeing a mixed group of Israelis and Palestinians and gave us VIP treatment as they whizzed us through the chamber where Jesus was born, in front of a long very-pissed off line of tourists, who watched us breeze by them. Who knows how long a wait they had.

We walked through the marketplace and I don't think I have ever been there. We stopped off at Mary's Place, a Catholic-owned, new, tastefully built center to look at the panoramic view.

One of the young Arab kids came over to me. I seem to be a magnet for young Arab men who confide in me all their dilemmas about women.

He points to a pretty young woman in front of me.

"How do I show her that I like her? I don't want to tell her. I want to show her. How?"

My guess is he was asking me because this was his first encounter with Israeli women. He wasn't sure she'd go out with him.

"She might go out with you." I tried to assure him. "But then she may not because you're a different religion" - let's be realistic.

I told him to get her email address and correspond at first. He seemed satisfied and happy that he now has a goal and a new Jewish mother.

"Can I call you Mama?" he asked me.

"You can, or you can call me by my name."

Did the locals know we were Israelis? Apparently, people heard the shopkeepers and locals saying to each other "Yahud?" ("Jews?") and were pleased to hear that we were from various peace groups.

The Palestinians said they were pleased to see we were also given trouble at the checkpoints and say this kind of thing happens to them every day. So we were given a taste of what they go through.

One man from one of the local Bible schools, an Christian Arab refugee from the Jerusalem neighborhood of Musrara, spoke to us to tell us that there aren't any tensions or persecutions of Christians from the Moslem majority in Bethlehem, but what only annoyed him was the call of the muezzins disturbing his sleep or tv watching; which was especially awful during Ramadan - when people were always in the mosque.  His comment annoyed the Bethlehem Moslems who told him that church bells were also very annoying to them.  That should be the worst of their problems.

We said our good byes to the Palestinian contingent and hoped we could organize a Visit Israel day for them.