Down the Rabbit Hole

Sometimes life in today's Israel can be so bizarre, so entirely unpredictable and spontaneous, that the imagination of the Holy Land trounces anything Caroll's could have produced. This mixed up messy place -- the only bottom line here is predictable unpredictability. Its nuances inspire, its wounds make one weep, and complacency and routineity are, for me at least, entirely impossible.

For example, I offer a few snapshots from my past week:

Sunday: Visited a Palestinian professor with a British Lord in a West Bank village. Had to hitchhike home with the British Lord and a Palestinian boiler-maker due to border closures but was held up in route by a small altercation at the checkpoint and a minor brawl between two colliding truck drivers. Judging by the lengthy line of cars and trucks, the trickle of Palestinians being allowed across the border that day was moving slower than ever due to extra heightenings of the heightened seurity screenings. Thanks to profiling, we sailed through when our turn came at long last, with a nod and a smile. Spent the afternoon meandering through a coptic monastery with a visiting friend and eating hummus from the quietly famous stand outside Damascus Gate, served in a hipster coffeeshop in West Jerusalem.

Monday: Spent the afternoon and evening at a friend's moshav (small agricultural community) between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. Picked lemons, nana, and parsely, wandered the little orchards and visited the family olive press, cooked dinner with homegrown vegetables, cheese, and labeneh, watched the stars come out in the chill winter sky, and saw the hills nearby from where one can hear rockets explode in the not so distance.

Tuesday: After working all day on a Palestinian-Israeli health outreach project, danced to funky electronic mixed beats in a cave-like bar with a mixed up group of Israeli friends and a small pack of roaming dogs.

Wednesday: Depressed by conflict and complacency (and the media's general lack of attention to the discourse and dissent that does exist -- thank you to Haaretz for giving it some real space today: http://www.haaretz.com/hasen/spages/1054265.html), started looking for ways to contribute to Physicians for Human Rights - Israel's efforts to deliver emergency medical equipment and services to Gaza. They have called for 700,000 USD urgently needed to provide lifesaving services to injured civilians caught in the conflict. See http://www.phr.org.il/phr/ for how to help. Also -- commisserated with the likeminded on the walls of Jerusalem's climbing gym and the floors of a hippies-only no nice clothes allowed reggae party near the Old City.

Thursday: Ran away for the afternoon to Ein Fara national park in Wadi Qelt, a deep valley running through the West Bank. The Israeli-owned park inside the mostly Palestinian-owned West Bank boasts some of the best and best developed rock-climbing in the Middle East. We cranked our way up limestones cliffs, shrouded in an other wordly silence and a warm winter sun, watching rock hyraxes play in the canyon below. Over one lip of the canyon and just beyond view, a Jewish settlement with its tell-tale red-roof homes glowed in the sunshine. Hardly a stone's through away, the minarets of a Palestinian village began to glow neon green as the sun lowered in the sky. From the walls of the canyon across from us, a few black-hooded monks emerged from dwellings hewn into a rock, threading their way to the monstery below. Below, the gushing Ein Qelt desert stream tumbled over, around the rocks, making its way through the valley and all the way to Jericho far off in the distance.

Friday: Left Ein Fara again, mid-afternoon after a dip in the fresh winter stream. The park closes early for the Sabbath - the hyraxes need their rest too. Breezed through the checkpoint and looked behind to see "the wall" snaking across the desert hills, 8 solid meters of concrete slicing across a landscape of biblical beauty. Biked to Mahane Yehuda shuk just in time to buy some hummus before the shabbos callers came out, black-clad ultra-orthodox men blowing their horns at us to shut down all commerce and signal the official onset of Sabbath rest. Ruthless and unyielding, they stalk through the shuk, "shabbos!" ringing from the already empty stalls. I bump into some friends, and we walk the empty alleys with a few of the city's poor and hungry, rumaging through discarded boxes of oranges and lemons. Already, Jerusalem is silent -- the cars are gone and I walk home through the middle of the empty streets, watching the Old City walls glow as the sun sinks beneath the horizon. No one in West Jerusalem is allowed to be alone for the Shabbat meal, and like the giant extended family that surrounds me, I cook and eat and laugh with friends and welcome in the day of rest. Shabat shalom -- feeling peace and wishing it was there for everyone.

Shabbat -- The sun shines winter warm and children play in the streets, their parents secure that no cars will come. Set up slacklines in Gan Sacher park with an Israeli climber friend and welcome in a flood of picnickers trying their luck at "tightrope-walking." The last little religious boy leaves with his dad, and my friend and I sit on the slacklines, drinking the local Goldstar brew and watching the sunset. In Tel Aviv for another friends' mother's performance art show - all in Hebrew but mostly children's stories, simple enough for me to relatively understand, and complete with a feast of cakes and cookies for all in the audience, baked by the actors as part of the show. Back in Jerusalem in time for an art and music website launch, 5 DJ party, in yet another cave-like Jerusalem bar, complete with two musician friends who live in old school buses in the forest and nearly as many dogs as people.


Another week now, deeper deeper down into the rabbit hole. I certainly couldn't have dreamt it. Who knows what tomorrow will bring??