“You’ve come at an interesting time

“You’ve come at an interesting time!” I heard this refrain with unfailing regularity whenever I introduced myself to a local as being from overseas. It would appear that in Israel ‘interesting’ is a euphemism for ‘dangerous’. I write this on the evening of October 18^th, 3 days after returning from the Holy Land. By the time you read this, Israel, the Palestinian Territories and the entire Middle East may have become more ‘interesting’ still. I hope that this has not transpired to be. I write in the hope that the best efforts of those who see settlement only through violence have been thwarted; I hope the region returns to a thoroughly ‘uninteresting’ peace (or at least some semblance of such).

A disclaimer: This is not an objective account of Middle East politics. I must disclose my interests: One of my very best friends, is an Israeli Jew, and I spent my time amongst the company of herself and her similarly Jewish friends. They are however of the secular, leftist, pro-peace persuasion and this is by no means an endorsement of aggressive Zionism, nor an apology for the (often reprehensible) actions of the state of Israel. I therefore make no claims of impartiality, my objectivity has already been compromised. What I write now is merely an account of my brief visit to a country on the brink of war, and an illustration of the concerns and fears of those Israelis who want to see peace, equality and friendship with their Arab neighbours. I share this sentiment, and their ready admission that Israel has to make recompense to those it has displaced, terrorised and murdered.

In the bars and cafes of Tel Aviv, the bloodshed often appears as far away as it did back in London. A city that is as western in its mode of living as it is Mediterranean in its climate, food and culture, I am instantly enamoured. The first evidence of the conflict comes in the park downtown. Sulking beneath the shade of the palm trees I see two young boys in army fatigues. ‘Cadets?’ I ask Adi, ‘Soldiers.’ she replies. I am aghast; these kids can’t be more than 18 or 19. As we enjoy respite from the oppressive midday sun in the shade close to them I see the clumsily clutched M16’s. The idea that a uniform makes someone a legitimate target for bullets and bombs seems barbaric when applied to conscript soldiers enduring national service, and barely out of high school. In contrast the more fearsome side of the IDF[1] shows itself as I spend some time getting sunburnt down at the beach. Engrossed in a book, the peaceful air is shattered by the thumping sound of attack helicopters flying in pairs down the coast, past Old Jaffa, towards I don’t know where. I imagine I’ll find out on the next news bulletin.

Speaking of the news, watching it is the national pastime of Israelis. Hardly surprising when bombs explode with alarming regularity, and casualties may well be loved ones given the country’s tiny population. There are only 5 million Israeli citizens, around a million of which being Israeli Arabs. So attacks on Israeli Jews are conducted against a population half that of London. It is not difficult to see why programming schedules are frequently abandoned in order to provide continues news updates. Now those that know me well know me as a being something of a news junkie myself. So it's unfortunate for me that in Adi’s Tel Aviv apartment, she has no cable TV (which means almost no English language news) and no Internet connection (so no online information or Palm Pilot Downloads). The only daily English language newspaper in Israel is the very right wing Jerusalem Post, with the liberal Ha’aretz being in Hebrew only. The public service broadcasting channel shows the news in English once a day, which I almost invariably miss. I hear everything second hand from my Israeli friends, although taking a siesta during the midday heat I occasionally tune in (nearly) to the BBC World Service. For a news junkie, being in the one of most newsworthy of regions, without access to news, is tantamount to cold turkey in a crack den.

It was clear that the situation was rapidly disintegrating however. Doubtless many of you saw the pictures of the two soldiers murdered in the Arab town of Ramallah, whilst ostensibly under the protection of the Palistinian police. Sat watching TV with Adi and her friends the horror was palpable amongst them as the first soldier’s body was cast from a first story window and then set upon by the mob outside. The young Palestinian proudly displaying the blood on his hands was equally chilling. As disturbing was the interview with a representative of an Israeli Army Secret Service unit[2]. Showing the faces of the perpetrators of this crime in freeze frame, I could sense what this signified. I didn’t even have to ask Adi, and as I turned towards her and began to speak she interjected immediately: ‘Yes, they will assassinate them. Unless of course the Palestinian Police arrest them immediately. Which they won’t.’

In Tel Aviv the mood is a mixture of worry and disbelief. I can speak only a few phrases of Hebrew, and only a couple of words in Arabic, but I hear ‘Intifada’ in almost every street corner conversation[3]. Whilst some are openely concerend that a war is only days away, others display indefference. Their ambivalent shrugs however do not always convinve, and I suspect a brave face is being put on a worried mind. Despite these tensions I made a day trip to Jerusalem[4]. Now obviosly I didn’t venture into Arab East Jerusalem on my own, but I was intent on seeing the Old City. My bag was searched by baby faced soldiers at the bus station, but in Jewish West Jerusalem the mood was quite rather than tense. As I approached the walls of the Old City I was quite relaxed, and perhaps imbued with a naïve optimism for what will become of it all. I could write about Jerusalem for as long as the city is old (well not quite), so I’ll have to curtail my musings at this point. Suffice to say that the Old City is one of the most amazing sights I imagine I will see during my life. As a devout aetheist, with an absolute belief in an evolutionary theory of existence diametrically opposed to that of the creationist, I could still not help from being in awe of the sheer holiness of the place. Turning a corner is to transcend faiths. I am not a Christian but the power of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the site of Jesus’ crucifixion and entombment is something to behold. Around me visitors of all shapes and sizes, colours and creeds, collapsed in reverence and submission before God. Well dressed Americans and Europeans lay prostrate, often weeping, as they succumbed to the physical embodiment of the central pillars of their faith. Amazingly in the most divided of all cities, further division is still possible within the walls a particular place of worship. The Church of the Holy Sepulchre is host to services by six denominations of Christianity, often simultaneously: Roman Catholics, Greek Orthodox, Armenian Orthodox, Syrian Orthodox, Ethiopians and Copts all share this place in a noisy peace.

The transition from the Christian Quarter to the Jewish quarter is interrupted only by the experience that is the Arabian Souq, or market. Like Merchant Ivory, Indiana Jones and the purveyors of counterfeit Versace and Pokemon found the world over mixed in a cultural blender, this temple of commerce is as impressive as its religious counterparts. After continuos offers of guidance and shopping assistance by the locals, I made it to the holiest site in Judaism, the Western, or Wailing, Wall. After the now familiar bag search and metal detector I stood at the heart of the world’s most troubled city. The Orthodox Jews were lined up against the Wall, swaying in prayer. On the other site, the Temple Mount, housing the magnificent Dome of the Rock stood as testament to the awesome beauty of Islamic architecture. Due to security measures, I was unable to enter (this was after all the site of right wing politician Ariel Sharon’s notorious visit and proclamations just a week earlier that had ignited this current conflict). I left the Old City exhausted, inspired and amazed that the walls are even still standing given the provocative proximity of such places.

Returning to Adi’s apartment in Tel Aviv (by way of a cruel Taxi driver who once I was out of the cab I realised had completely overcharged me thank you very much) was like returning to a more modern age. The conflict played no direct part during the remaining tenure of my stay, though it prevent me from making a couple of intended journeys. A trip to go clubbing in Jerusalem the following evening was abandoned when security checkpoints on the roads were deployed, causing massive traffic jams, made such venture impractical. Likewise a planned roadtrip to the Negev Desert, Masada and the Dead Sea was ruled out in light of the route being dangerously close to the West Bank with the car carrying Israeli registration plates.

On my final evening in Israel we joined a protest of sorts in central Tel Aviv. The objective was to call upon Ehud Barak to do everything possible in the upcoming talks, hosted by Egypt, for peace. Of course I couldn’t understand the speakers, but the sentiment was clear. With interpretation by Adi I heard a synopsis of a letter written by an Israeli soldier who had been imprisoned for refusing to serve in the occupied territories. Choking back tears, his father relayed the sorrow they both felt in seeing their best efforts for peace and restitution with their Arab friends and neighbours being frustrated by radicals on either side. The speakers both Arab and Israeli condemned the Israeli right as embodied by Arial Sharon for exacerbating the suffering of the Palestinians, the Israeli government for failing to censure such activity, and Gasser Aright for both orchestrating the Palestinian violence and failing to control extremists on that side. There seemed to be no easy solutions, as each side wanted and deserved both peace and security, the two objectives seeming often incompatible.

Leaving the demonstration with Gush Shalom stickers as a momento, it was easy to see the difficulties of campaigning for peace in a region so accustomed to war[5]. Throwing stones at soldiers, or levelling buildings with helicopter gunships is an easy way to make a statement for war. How does one so immediately convey an intent for peace? Adi and her friends attend protests, and boycott goods produced by the illegal Jewish settlements in the occupied territories (which of course Israeli citizens are encouraged to buy, and enjoy generous tax breaks from the government in deference to the paralysing hold that the religious right still maintains over the Knesset[6]), but this is hardly headline news when blood is being shed on a daily basis.

As I made my preparations to leave Israel I thought back to one of their first places Adi had taken me in Tel Aviv. Kikar Yitzhak Rabin, the city square renamed in tribute to Yitzhak Rabin, Israeli Prime Minister murdered by a Jew opposed to the Peace Process. The memorial that stood solemnly at the very site of his death stood as testament not just to the tragic death of man, but in the eyes of many to the death of the peace process. It’s effect on the Israeli psyche cannot be underestimated. When each side in a conflict is subject to its own internal bitter hostilities, as we are all too familiar with in the case of Northern Ireland, the prospects for lasting peace look unlikely to say the least. If the mood of this article has been overtly solemn, then it is because these more painful memories will endure perhaps beyond those rather more fond that I enjoyed during my time visiting a dear friend. My vacation was after all far more about sun and fun than bullets and guns, but it was saddening none the less. As you read this I hope the situation has improved, though I fear the best I can hope for is for it not to have worsened even further, and even that maybe too much to ask. Shalom, Salaam, Peace. Three translations of the same word spoken every day in both the Middle East and with regard to the Middle East, a word which seems seldom put into practice. The tragic irony all too clear in the Tourist Office’s pamphlet slogan of choice: ‘Jerusalem. The City of Peace.’

Shoes@clara.co.uk

[2] Not Mossad, in case you were wondering, but a division of the Army itself.

[3] Intifada: Uprising (Arabic). Usually used to describe the actions of militant Palistinians during the early Nineties, but now appplied to the present situation, ‘Intifada 2000’.

[4] Jerusalem (English), Yerushalayim (Hebrew), Al Quds (Arabic).

[5] Gush Shalom: Jewish and Arab peace group (www.gush-shalom.org).