Sunday morning, on the bus to Hebron, lots of soldiers apparently going back to their posts. All of them busy with themselves, no one seems to notice me, or is curious as to why I am here.
There appear to be new regulations for the buses to Hebron, “NO STANDING”. There is a lot of shoving and pushing to get on, but not enough room for everyone. Didn’t anybody realise they would need more buses if they cancelled standing, especially before and after week-ends. A father with two young children manages to squeeze through, while his wife and baby are pushed aside. A girl at the front of the bus raises her voice to get soldiers out of the way, so the mother and baby can get on board. By the time she climbs the steps, there are no seats left, and the driver tells her to get off. I stand up and offer my own seat and she can hold her baby in her arms.
In the meantime I notice, what looks like, an empty space next to a soldier towards the back of the bus. No one had said anything, no one seemed to care. I ask the soldier to move aside, but he is keeping the seat for a friend. The bus is now pulling out of Jerusalem Central Bus Station and his friend is left standing by the metal detectors, like the ones you see in an airport, but without the sense of calm and order.
STANDING passengers are officially not allowed on bullet-protected buses. The windows have Perspex shields, which only go up to head/sitting height, hence the rule. Soldiers offer to lie on the floor, but the rules have recently been enforced more strictly and drivers are afraid to get caught.
We are driving along the streets of Jerusalem, past Katamon, up to Gilo, and then South towards Bethlehem. The Perspex shields have condensation caught between them and the windows they are protecting. Between the rain outside and the condensation inside, it is impossible to see anything except for some reason through my window. Maybe it is not fully sealed so fresh air can get in and the condensation can evaporate more easily. I hope nothing else can get in more easily, and I quietly wonder what is protecting us below the Perspex and the windows.
The soldier next to me is talking on his cell phone to the friend he left behind, arranging to meet somewhere later on. I find it curious that I was able to get on the bus. Perhaps there is something in my genes, as my mother was an expert at jumping the queue for the London theatre, or maybe my travels in India helped?
As we leave Jerusalem behind and enter the open road it is pouring. Through the rain and Perspex, I make out stretches of wall alongside the road. Presumably these are to protect the traffic from easy sniping. On the radio Rafi Reshef is in conversation with Sasson Gabai who is at London Airport in the process of boarding a flight back to Israel. The night before Gabai received the award for Best Actor, alongside Helen Mirren, at the European Film Academy Awards. His picture is also on the back page of the newspapers the soldiers are reading.
As we slow down to a stop I notice the road by-passes the centre of Bethlehem and I realise I didn't pay the bus fare. I think back to my previous bus journey from Rehovot to Jerusalem, and how that driver "forgot" to give me back 50 Shekels change for my 100 shekel note. He had been happily chatting away on his cell phone, holding his hands-free mouth piece in one hand, while driving through the pouring rain. Now on the bus to Hebron when I had asked to buy a ticket, the driver had been too busy telling soldiers to get off the bus, and in the end we both "forgot".
The bus lurches forward on its over-soft suspension every time the driver hits the brakes, it is nauseating! Another stop in the middle of nowhere and the soldier next to me gets off. We appear to be in a settlement, with double barbed wire fences all around, presumably for dog patrols. At another stop I see a sign saying Ramat Mamreh - Mount Taking Off (as in a plane) - hill top settlement.
The driver forgets to close the back door, and as he pulls away the soldiers shout to him. No one is bothered. Another stop, more soldiers get out, this time we are at the entrance to a large army base. More barbed wire and only Givati and Mishmar haGvul left on the bus, you can tell by their shoulder tags and berets.
I am now sitting in a coffee shop/pizzeria at the entrance to Kiryat Arba. The radio is on at full volume. I order a coffee. The proprietor has a very long beard and a large knitted skullcap. He steams up the milk, pours it in a mug, and then spoons coffee powder on the milky froth. I sit there, stirring in the coffee. There is nothing much to do, apart from being there. So I try experiencing the space, staying, waiting for something to fill it!
Before coming here I had walked along a colonnade that led to the grave of Baruch Goldstein. It is a singular tomb, in its place of solitude, overseeing Hebron.
I ask the proprietor if there is anything to do around here and he turns down the volume on the radio. He seems to think I refer to other kinds of pastime than what he is used to.
So what do you do in the evenings, cinema, theatre, music? We like to sit together in groups discussing the bible, reinforcing our convictions. This is the best entertainment.
And what sort of music do you like? You do like music? Oh yes all kinds, classical, modern, folk, all kinds of music, with a big smile. We talk about recent concerts, radio channels, chanting, and rock music. He is pleased when friendly outside visitors come here. No one comes here without a reason. Supporters come to visit family and friends, a few come to pray for divine intervention, occasionaly they come to protest, but most people are to scared too bother. But while you are here you must go to the cave of the patriarchs. I ask if it is safe?
Yes, no problem, just go outside hold out your hand and wait for a ride into Hebron, you can even walk if you like. I stand by the road, and eventually hitch a ride into Hebron.
About 10 minutes winding through some very steep lanes, between stone block buildings I am dropped off outside a heavily guarded Mosque.
I go inside, through metal detectors, passing disinterested guards. It is quite empty. I go up the stairway into the ancient buildings. I wonder around and notice gated enclaves with small signs hung obtusely outside.
Inside each enclave there is a massive tomb covered in silks and velvet. The signs in Hebrew, say Sign of the Tomb of …
It is an unfamiliar experience with a few people praying here and there. Chairs, tables, and various Hebrew volumes are strewn around, having been taken from massive bookshelves.
I do not know what to do so I decide to do nothing. I try to feel the space and to get myself present. I browse through Solomon’s “Song of Songs”. I look for David’s psalms thinking of the Lord is My Shepherd, but I cannot find it.
I am confused. I feel overwhelmed. I am not sure what to ask for so I sit down in a quiet corner to take stock. I am in a room, it is a prayer room, and there are tombs all around me. Eventually it dawns on me that this is where it all began from.
Abraham, Isaac and Jacob are buried here, they are the fathers of the Jewish faith and people. This is the claim to the right to be here and the settlers and religious Zionists hold a beacon out at the rightmost flank of that claim. I try to open myself to empathise with their devotion. Something has enabled the Jewish nation/faith to survive without a permanent homeland for over 5000 years. A period which my intellect reminds me is longer than any other homeless nation.
I start to think that letting go of this place means letting go of past and future heritage into an ever-present intermingling and absorption. Later on I think to myself that the place to keep this spirit and historic connection alive, without intruding on neighbours, is called PEACE.
My intellect tells me this whole attachment to icons, to tombs, and to holy venues is totally primitive. In fact religious belief itself is quite PRIMORDIAL.
Birds flutter around and I am reminded of the discussion about the secret of immortality. Siva and Sita sit together, in Amarnath high up in the Kashmir Mountains, on a dark night, with pigeons cooing in the roof of their cave. Sita falls sleeps, while Siva is egged on by the cooing birds. When he finds out what has happened, he strikes the birds with a bolt of lightening. They of course survive it as they now know the secret of immortality.
Looking back on this journey, I hope that bringing people here will open hearts to its significance and knowledge that it will not be forgotten. And I hope we can create the time and space, to relate to each other in other ways about other important things like friendship and music.
There appear to be new regulations for the buses to Hebron, “NO STANDING”. There is a lot of shoving and pushing to get on, but not enough room for everyone. Didn’t anybody realise they would need more buses if they cancelled standing, especially before and after week-ends. A father with two young children manages to squeeze through, while his wife and baby are pushed aside. A girl at the front of the bus raises her voice to get soldiers out of the way, so the mother and baby can get on board. By the time she climbs the steps, there are no seats left, and the driver tells her to get off. I stand up and offer my own seat and she can hold her baby in her arms.
In the meantime I notice, what looks like, an empty space next to a soldier towards the back of the bus. No one had said anything, no one seemed to care. I ask the soldier to move aside, but he is keeping the seat for a friend. The bus is now pulling out of Jerusalem Central Bus Station and his friend is left standing by the metal detectors, like the ones you see in an airport, but without the sense of calm and order.
STANDING passengers are officially not allowed on bullet-protected buses. The windows have Perspex shields, which only go up to head/sitting height, hence the rule. Soldiers offer to lie on the floor, but the rules have recently been enforced more strictly and drivers are afraid to get caught.
The soldier next to me is talking on his cell phone to the friend he left behind, arranging to meet somewhere later on. I find it curious that I was able to get on the bus. Perhaps there is something in my genes, as my mother was an expert at jumping the queue for the London theatre, or maybe my travels in India helped?
As we leave Jerusalem behind and enter the open road it is pouring. Through the rain and Perspex, I make out stretches of wall alongside the road. Presumably these are to protect the traffic from easy sniping. On the radio Rafi Reshef is in conversation with Sasson Gabai who is at London Airport in the process of boarding a flight back to Israel. The night before Gabai received the award for Best Actor, alongside Helen Mirren, at the European Film Academy Awards. His picture is also on the back page of the newspapers the soldiers are reading.
As we slow down to a stop I notice the road by-passes the centre of Bethlehem and I realise I didn't pay the bus fare. I think back to my previous bus journey from Rehovot to Jerusalem, and how that driver "forgot" to give me back 50 Shekels change for my 100 shekel note. He had been happily chatting away on his cell phone, holding his hands-free mouth piece in one hand, while driving through the pouring rain. Now on the bus to Hebron when I had asked to buy a ticket, the driver had been too busy telling soldiers to get off the bus, and in the end we both "forgot".
The bus lurches forward on its over-soft suspension every time the driver hits the brakes, it is nauseating! Another stop in the middle of nowhere and the soldier next to me gets off. We appear to be in a settlement, with double barbed wire fences all around, presumably for dog patrols. At another stop I see a sign saying Ramat Mamreh - Mount Taking Off (as in a plane) - hill top settlement.
The driver forgets to close the back door, and as he pulls away the soldiers shout to him. No one is bothered. Another stop, more soldiers get out, this time we are at the entrance to a large army base. More barbed wire and only Givati and Mishmar haGvul left on the bus, you can tell by their shoulder tags and berets.
I am now sitting in a coffee shop/pizzeria at the entrance to Kiryat Arba. The radio is on at full volume. I order a coffee. The proprietor has a very long beard and a large knitted skullcap. He steams up the milk, pours it in a mug, and then spoons coffee powder on the milky froth. I sit there, stirring in the coffee. There is nothing much to do, apart from being there. So I try experiencing the space, staying, waiting for something to fill it!
Before coming here I had walked along a colonnade that led to the grave of Baruch Goldstein. It is a singular tomb, in its place of solitude, overseeing Hebron.
I ask the proprietor if there is anything to do around here and he turns down the volume on the radio. He seems to think I refer to other kinds of pastime than what he is used to.
So what do you do in the evenings, cinema, theatre, music? We like to sit together in groups discussing the bible, reinforcing our convictions. This is the best entertainment.
And what sort of music do you like? You do like music? Oh yes all kinds, classical, modern, folk, all kinds of music, with a big smile. We talk about recent concerts, radio channels, chanting, and rock music. He is pleased when friendly outside visitors come here. No one comes here without a reason. Supporters come to visit family and friends, a few come to pray for divine intervention, occasionaly they come to protest, but most people are to scared too bother. But while you are here you must go to the cave of the patriarchs. I ask if it is safe?
Yes, no problem, just go outside hold out your hand and wait for a ride into Hebron, you can even walk if you like. I stand by the road, and eventually hitch a ride into Hebron.
About 10 minutes winding through some very steep lanes, between stone block buildings I am dropped off outside a heavily guarded Mosque.I go inside, through metal detectors, passing disinterested guards. It is quite empty. I go up the stairway into the ancient buildings. I wonder around and notice gated enclaves with small signs hung obtusely outside.
Inside each enclave there is a massive tomb covered in silks and velvet. The signs in Hebrew, say Sign of the Tomb of …
It is an unfamiliar experience with a few people praying here and there. Chairs, tables, and various Hebrew volumes are strewn around, having been taken from massive bookshelves.
I do not know what to do so I decide to do nothing. I try to feel the space and to get myself present. I browse through Solomon’s “Song of Songs”. I look for David’s psalms thinking of the Lord is My Shepherd, but I cannot find it.
I am confused. I feel overwhelmed. I am not sure what to ask for so I sit down in a quiet corner to take stock. I am in a room, it is a prayer room, and there are tombs all around me. Eventually it dawns on me that this is where it all began from.
Abraham, Isaac and Jacob are buried here, they are the fathers of the Jewish faith and people. This is the claim to the right to be here and the settlers and religious Zionists hold a beacon out at the rightmost flank of that claim. I try to open myself to empathise with their devotion. Something has enabled the Jewish nation/faith to survive without a permanent homeland for over 5000 years. A period which my intellect reminds me is longer than any other homeless nation.
I start to think that letting go of this place means letting go of past and future heritage into an ever-present intermingling and absorption. Later on I think to myself that the place to keep this spirit and historic connection alive, without intruding on neighbours, is called PEACE.
My intellect tells me this whole attachment to icons, to tombs, and to holy venues is totally primitive. In fact religious belief itself is quite PRIMORDIAL.
Birds flutter around and I am reminded of the discussion about the secret of immortality. Siva and Sita sit together, in Amarnath high up in the Kashmir Mountains, on a dark night, with pigeons cooing in the roof of their cave. Sita falls sleeps, while Siva is egged on by the cooing birds. When he finds out what has happened, he strikes the birds with a bolt of lightening. They of course survive it as they now know the secret of immortality.
Looking back on this journey, I hope that bringing people here will open hearts to its significance and knowledge that it will not be forgotten. And I hope we can create the time and space, to relate to each other in other ways about other important things like friendship and music.