Live from Jerusalem

I guess I’m insane. And it will most probably bite me in the ass someday - maybe next time I fly back to Cairo, maybe one day if I ever run for office. But I’m here.

Wow! Palestine, baby!!!!

Arrived through Tel Aviv last Sunday, and was - surprisingly - let in very swiftly, where I took a service taxi ( “sherut”) to East Jerusalem. Chatted in broken Hebrew (he, he) with a yeshiva (religious school) student named Shimon, and got to my stinky hostel at 2 am on Sunday.

Tel-Aviv airport. A reminder that, even if you're going to Palestine, you have to request a permit (or a visa) from Israel. The irony of occupation...

Of course, I spent the rest of the day running up and down the Old City.

I went to the Haram Al-Sharif (Temple Mount), where I disbelievingly had to recite the ‘Fatiha’ to the guard to convince him that I am a Muslim (my Egyptian national ID, which states my religion, was insufficient. Apparently, the guy seems to think it’s easier to falsify an ID than to memorise 5 lines of Quran...).

What one sees at first is the Dome of Rock - the symbol of Jerusalem. Wow. It’s... gorgeous. The intricate mosaics, the shiny dome, the circular inside, it’s absolutely breathtaking. Prayed two raq’a inside, then I heard the call for Al-Asr prayer, which I decided to pray in Al-Aqsa, 100 metres away.

I entered Al-Aqsa like I enter any other mosque - running late!

Al-Aqsa doesn’t look anything special, really. But once you step in, you know. You recall Al-Israa’ (prophet’s Muhammad night trip to Jerusalem, where he led all prophets in prayer before ascending to meet God), you think that Abraham or Noah probably stood at the very same spot you are, and you take a deep breath - and a scent of musk and history enters your lungs, and won’t leave. I was there for at least half an hour, sitting there, praying, and watching two kids who chased each other and laughed loudly, disregarding their father’s muted shouting not to run in the Mosque.

What else. I walked part of the Via Dolorosa (on Jesus’ footsteps to the Crucifixion), but I decided to cut this visit short and decided that I didn’t want to rush it, for it’s quite long and there are 14 stations along the way to visit, pray and meditate - so I decided to keep it for another day. I’ll try to join a tour - more on that later!

Shopped at a postcard shop in the Christian quarter, where I bought a 40 years old greeting card (that has Abdel-Nasser and King Hussein on it!), ate a decent Palestinian falafel. Not as good as an Egyptian one, but will do.

I also went to the Western Wall (Wailing Wall - Buraq Wall - make your pick). Very impressive
visit. The most impressive thing about the wall is... that it isn’t impressive. No particular architecture, no carvings or paintings, nothing. Just a 50 metres-long wall. There is, however, what Jews call a ‘divine presence’ (the word in Hebrew escapes me - ‘Shechina’, I think?) - and you feel it. In the prayers, the shivers. In the little notes, beginning with “Dear G-d, ...” that worshippers stick between the rocks for an express route to heaven. It’s quite something, and I enjoyed standing there, touching the stones that millions have touched before me, and watching the worshippers around me.

I also took a visit to the undergrounds of the wall, which would’ve been enjoyable if it wasn’t for the tour guide who felt he had the mission to tell the group how bad Arabs were and how victimized Jews are - disregarding things like the fact that the plaza by the wall used to be Arab houses that were demolished by Moshe Dayan’s tanks after the Israelis occupied East Jerusalem in 1967. I mean, fine. You can try to make the case for Israel’s occupation of Jerusalem, but do you have to do it by demonizing your victims? Pfff...

So that was Day One - well, mostly. Later in the evening, Mounir, my work supervisor and a genuine Jerusalemite, dropped by my hostel to take me for a welcome tour around his city, which was great. It’s quite hilly, which provides for some fabulous views. We also went to the King David Hotel, which was quite nice too - and, amusingly, despite being in West Jerusalem, all the waiters and receptionists were Arabs. I found that quite puzzling, and a small introduction to the complexities of the life of Palestinians in Jerusalem.

Later on, in what can only be explained by the Palestinian ancestral hospitality, Mounir declared that my hostel sucked (well, it did) and that he wasn’t letting me stay there another night, and invited me over to stay at his house. After I refused and he agreed to take me to another hotel, he took me - to his house, where I remained for the following four days.

Welcome to Palestine - my home for the coming few months.

----------- The following few days were spent at the Jerusalem office, where I was to receive some orientation before heading to Ramallah, where I will be posted for a few months. Notable is a snow day (last Tuesday), a shopping spree in a supermarket which turned out to be part of an East Jerusalem jewish settlement, a few quick incursions into West Jerusalem (which is the Israeli, and overall more modern part of the city), a visit to a coffee shop (called ‘Espresso bars’ in Israel) across from the Hebrew University and which had a metal detector at the entrance. I’ll try to check out West Jerusalem, over the coming few weeks - I’m very curious, I have to admit...

And of course, enjoying the fabulous hospitality of Mounir and his family, who really pampered me! I was ushered into the family in no time... I couldn’t have wished for a better beginning of my trip to Palestine! I also met his parents, who, mashallah, have a fantastic memory of every detail of the past 70 years, including the details of their house in Cairo where they lived for 2 years after the Nakba (in 1948), and their old houses, which are now in West Jerusalem...

Anyways. So, Jerusalem rocks. I can’t wait to go there again, which hopefully should be in the next few days.
Right now, I am in Ramallah, my home for the coming few months - that’ll be another story.

In completely different news, I wrote - or rather, didn’t write - something, and managed to hurt someone I sincerely care for. I am very, very sorry.